Uryū's Ailment
by virtualailee
Summary: To prove himself to one man, he strived to be the best in everything. Too much indeed that he wreaked his self. But a parent's love is eternal, isn't it? Like every other father, Ryūken was perturbed when news of Uryū's deteriorating health came to light.
1. Painful First Stage

… _ebullioscopic constant is the elevation of the boiling point of a solvent when 1 mol of a non-volatile solute is added to 1000g of the solvent… can also be expressed as °C mol-1 100g-1… elevation of boiling point when 1 mol of the solute is added of the solvent…_

2.48 a.m. already.

Ishida Uryū glanced at the digital alarm clock on his study table – its luminous figures glowed in his semi-dark room. Mid-year exam was approaching and despite faring excellently in all previous monthly tests, he felt his effort was not enough. He needed to work more diligently. He had to strive harder. He _had _to be better. Hence, he started this burning-the-midnight-oil-schedule since the past fortnight. He thought some reading up on Chemistry was bound to prove beneficial… although maybe not any days now. But perhaps a pre-U text book would be too in-depth for a high school scholar like him.

Surprisingly, none of the facts appeared illogical before him. Everything was precise and solid. He had gotten the hang of those concepts and even deemed the calculation somewhat menial.

A growl of hunger emanated from his middle. He looked swiftly at the time-keeper again.

3.15 a.m.

Ah, so late already? There was an important class tomorrow; his teacher was going to elaborate more on Hooke's Law and he certainly did not want to miss that. A clear head was what he needed for that lesson. And to clear his overly-condensed brain, he was rather keen in lying on the ever so inviting bed, face down on the feather-stuffed pillow…

The stomach could wait until breakfast…

Before long, Ishida Uryū was dead to the world.

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Ring!

The morning lesson was about to commence. Students of assorted antics filed into the previously vacant classroom in separate groups of three and four. Ishida was already there, seated on his chair with the relevant books on his table. Soon, the area echoed with scrapings of furniture on the cement floor and guffaws of laughter from almost every nook of the space. These disturbances rammed mercilessly into Uryū's ear canals. Temples throbbing dully, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the magazine he was reading. If only they would stop behaving so oafishly…

"Ishida!"

He raised his head a fraction.

_Kurosaki Ichigo._

The boy came over to his table and placed his navy bag clumsily on the desk, successfully knocking down a copy of "Physics Volume 1".

"Oh, sorry."

Ichigo dived down to retrieve it.

Another pounding hammered the sides of his skull.

Ishida pressed his palm to his forehead, willing the headaches to go away. It was getting more and more irksome now that the discomfort was getting too profound for him to ignore. A flicker of Ichigo's form straightening up forced Ishida to lower his hand and put on that typical severe look.

"Here," the orange haired classmate returned the book to its stack, "Why are you looking so cross?"

He eyed the bespectacled boy. Unaccustomed to this sort of attention, Uryū prodded his glasses up before returning an equally sharp stare.

"I assume that you have something urgent to tell me… which I think you won't be doing so."

"Huh?"

Ichigo turned to the blackboard – Uryū's pupils had averted from his face to roughly an inch next to his ear. Apparently the teacher was already marching into the class and judging by her greatly scrunched visage, she must be in a gray mood. Ichigo glanced between his teacher and Uryū. It would not be wise to test her patience at the moment… guess the talk will have to wait. Hastily, he groped for his bag and once again, several books toppled off from Uryū's desk.

"Kurosaki!" Uryū hissed through gritted teeth.

Ichigo halted. Making sure that the teacher was not observing her students, he turned and made his way for the fallen books.

Then the teacher slammed a number of folders onto her table. It shook fleetingly under the brutal impact the lady had exerted.

Ichigo flinched.

"Fine," he heard a whisper, "I'll pick it up. Go!"

"Thanks man."

He gave the sitting boy a thumb up. When their grumpy teacher turned her heels to face the blackboard, Ichigo sped between rows of tables, half-crouching all the way to remain shielded from view as he searched for his respective place. Ishida stooped lower for his possessions.

Blood rushed to his brain. Momentarily, it felt as if all sound was eliminated from his surrounding. Deaf. Then just as abruptly as the sensation sank, his ear drums caught incoherent words from his surrounding.

"All right! Now which idiot is absent today?"

Ishida grabbed his books and returned quickly to his initial position, t_oo _quickly.

_Crap._

He slanted his head downwards – his hand supporting its weight.

Darkness shrouded his vision, pushing light away from his eyes. He strained the impaired organs. The patches of blackness twirled… it swerved in and out… but gradually, they diminished from his sight.

He blinked.

"_And if the spring is pulled beyond its limit, which is the…"_

They did not register. Ishida read the sentences written in chalk twice but none seeped into his mind. Nevertheless, he concentrated relentlessly on his talking teacher. She must be explaining something that made sense… why could he not comprehend anything?

"_It will never rebound to its original condition, that is to say its length, shape or size…"_

_What? Come again?_

His brain rattled within its confinement and his stomach felt oddly empty. He thought he had filled it with a glass of warm milk – when he woke up, his body had mysteriously chose to resist food, which sent him pelting to the toilet bowl after three nibbles of plain bread.

"_Given a graph like this, how could we find the work done by the elastic object, say a rubber band?"_

Again, the bizarre impression of his meager breakfast being vacuumed away swept over his clammy body. He cast his head down and squinted at the desktop.

"_Ishida."_

His stomach must have contained a hole… that his food leaked out in some ways…

"Ishida!"

The boy started. Forty two eyeballs were directed to him – he had an inkling that six of them which belonged to Ichigo, Orihime and Sado were peering at him with apprehension.

"Ishida Uryū," his teacher called out again – this time, with raised eyebrows.

Void of thoughts, he got to his feet.

"Well, can you tell me how much work is done by the rubber band? In Joule, if you please."

Uryū scrutinized the scrawling in front.

_Those are familiar… _

He had revised this before. It would not pose much difficulty.

"The area below the graph is equal to the work done –"

He stifled a gasp. His stomach just did a somersault.

"The – the formula to calculate said area is A equals ½ Fχ…"

He was no longer aware of his explanations. Gastric acid lurched higher into his oesophagus…

"F is 12 Newton and χ is –"

Ishida forced his saliva down his throat. Something bitter threatened to pour out from his awfully dehydrated mouth. He had to run for it.

"Sensei?"

She cocked her thin brows higher that they almost disappeared behind copper fringes.

"Can I… can I be excused for a while? The lavatory –"

It would be too late by then. Ignoring the many glares and "Come back here, Ishida!" of his teacher, he rushed to the nearest gents' and readied himself in front of a sink. Still panting, he shut his eyes and rested both arms on the counter.

_Cut it out!_

For once, his body actually listened to him. He felt fine. The short run he took just now seemed to have relieved his dire need to empty his guts. He looked up at his reflection. No surprise there. He appeared exactly as he imagined his self to be…

Pallid and weary.

_Damn…_

He turned the water on and allowed it to run through his fingers. Going back to the class now would not be an option… not now… not yet… But if he did not, he would be left out from the lesson. It was an important one… he could not afford skiving class… the teacher had hinted that it might come up in the next test.

Uryū splashed icy water to his face after placing his spectacles on the counter. As he stood there, beads of water trailed down his bony chin, he surveyed his visage once more. It might not have been as how he normally looked like, but at least some colours had returned to the skin. Appearing lively somewhat, Uryū exited the toilet and headed for his classroom.

Ring!

A faraway din erupted at the end of the vacant corridor. It was recess time.

Uryū traipsed at his own pace since Physics would definitely have been over. It was only a matter of time before scores of students flooded the school compound with food crammed into their gaps.

And he was right.

Keigo had vanished into the canteen (Uryū glimpsed upon his silhouette who was yakking loudly about "canteen's new menu") while other classmates were coming his way – bento swinging in their grasps. With this many people evacuating the block, he was ensured brief relief from the triviality of adolescent's nonsense.

Deeply grateful of his luck, he entered the seemingly unoccupied class, save for a solitary figure tapping his foot impatiently by Uryū's seat.

"Oi, Ishida!"

The bespectacled boy walked nonchalantly to his desk.

"Kurosaki, what do you want now?"

"Ah, well, we all decided to go out for lunch at the rooftop. And I wonder whether you want to come with us or not."

Ishida pulled out his chair and sat on it.

"Come on, where's the fun in eating alone?"

"No thanks."

"Really…"

Resigned, Ichigo left Uryū alone with his piles of books.

Watching the taller one leaving, he sighed and relaxed his stance. The buzzing of propelling fans breached the quietness of his free classroom. Within seconds, it coursed into his mind uncomfortably, triggering the morning headache he had earlier. Wanting respite, Uryū rested his prickling temple on the cool surface of his table, cushioning it with his left arm. The sensation did not cease; in fact, it seemed to magnify into a major migraine.

He did not know when his eye lids drooped… he did not know when sleep engulfed him…

Ring!

Ishida jerked awake. Recess was over. Over? And he had not eaten anything…

Knowing full well how time-consuming and tedious the next session would be, he fumbled around in his bag for his lunch box. He might not have the leisure to finish up everything but he needed some nutrition to last the day.

_Oh crap._

Numbness slithered in his forearm, snatching what control he had over his limb. Furious and worried all the same of his ailing self, he balled the shivering hand as hard as he could to stop the quivering.

And then, his stomach did another flip back.

Immediately, food did not look very enticing at all. Instead, he drank a mouthful of water in hope of easing the troublesome organ.

"Ishida-kun!"

He nearly spewed his drink in the air.

"Ah… Inoue-san," he adjusted his spectacles more securely up his nose. "What's the matter?"

She grinned very brightly and burst, "I've come up with a brand new recipe yesterday and thought of treating Kurosaki-kun, Sado-kun, Tatsuki-chan… and you!"

_This must be nothing good._

"Here it is!" Orihime brandished a queer looking red bun under the stunned boy's nose. "Curry man tao! The filling is chicken curry and I added red bean to the flour to give the skin a reddish tint. Here you go!"

She pushed it forcefully into his shaky hands. Oblivious of Ishida's current state, she smiled again and leaned closer to the boy.

"Err…"

"Tell me how it tastes!" she beamed.

That had got to be the worst.

His instinct nagged him to fling the bun out of the window first chance he got when Orihime was not looking. But after that he would have to lie about her recipe. It was not a very decent thing to do, was it?

Heart thumping quickly, he popped the fortunately tiny man tao into his mouth.

He should have heeded his intuition.

The curry filling scorched his tongue and the pastry was too squelchy to be called a bun. This disastrous combination of flavours merged and when he finally forced it down, his eyes were already teary due to its preposterous spiciness.

"Well?" she asked with anticipation.

"Err…"

Either the truth… or deceit.

"Umm, it's… it's very…"

"All right! Back to your seats! History books out now!"

Their teacher had just arrived in the class. Orihime winked and promised to come ask Ishida on the way home about her bun. And if possible, she could teach him how to cook that himself.

But Uryū was not paying attention to her. His stomach was acting up again and his mouth had gone awfully dry. Coldness conquered his body and the next thing he knew, he was dashing to the toilet.

Bending low to the ceramic sink, he purged whatever there was in his guts down the drainage system. He knew it. It was not wise to accept such treats from Orihime. Her reputation was soaring high as the number one catastrophic chef. Yet he still foolishly stuck one of her abnormal creations into his mouth…

His abdomen muscles constricted again and Uryū threw up into the sink. Now devoid of food, his stomach ached with hunger. However, the second fit of vomiting nudged him to vague panic-ness. He was not very certain that the bun was damaging him. It must be something else…

Ishida loosened the necktie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Bothersome as it may be, he needed to release the collar in order to ease his breathing. Shifting his gaze from the sink hole, he turned on the tap to wash down his previous meal. That was when the knob clicked and the door swung open.

"Oh, you here too, Ishida?"

_Not him!_

The orange haired boy examined the disarray figure hunching over the sink. Necktie and shirt in a mess… this was not how the meticulous Uryū would choose to be portrayed. And something was not right. Ichigo could see the rapid rise and fall of Uryū's chest through the opening of the upper half of his shirt. Something was obviously wrong…

"You don't look like your usual self. Are you okay?" Ichigo commented, closing the door behind him. The bespectacled boy turned to face the new arrival.

"This isn't your business –"

He cupped his mouth and bend over to the sink, retching into the pool of murky water swirling down the pipes.

"Ishida!"

Jadedly, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He felt a firm grasp on his shoulder and sensed the warmness it provided spread to his own skin.

"How are you feeling?" Ichigo asked in alarm.

Ishida merely flashed a weak smile of reassurance. Surely it would be nice if someone else could tell him that it was nothing and that his metabolism was only throwing a tantrum.

Ichigo was not buying it.

"I'll get you the nurse," he said simply.

Ishida leaned on the counter and steadied himself. He did not want to see the school's nurse as long as he could help it. It was not like he had developed some sort of phobia towards medication and doctors...

"No."

Ichigo tightened his hold on the sickly teenage boy.

"What? Don't be stupid! I'm no physician all right but it's as clear as hell that you're not well! So I say I'll take you to the nurse!"

"No," Ishida repeated. "Kurosaki, let go. It hurts," the words came in a barely audible whisper. His vision wavered and he gripped the counter for support. Ichigo waited for him to regain composure. He knew how hard-headed this guy could be. And he knew that Uryū would never accept help consciously from another, especially from Ichigo. Then what else can he do, but to respect his wish?

"Come on," Ichigo muttered, his speech lined with concern, "We'll go back to class."

Uryū had no objection to this. So carefully, he stood independently for a couple of seconds, bracing himself for any sudden urge to go to the sink again before leaving. Throughout the silent walk, Ichigo hovered closely behind him as if on stand-by to catch Uryū should he collapse to the floor. The latter was annoyed to some extent but deep down, he was thankful for Ichigo's good will. On approaching the classroom's entrance, Uryū halted.

"Kurosaki, you enter first."

Ichigo was taken aback.

"Why?"

"I need to fix my uniform."

"Oh. All right."

Upon entering the class, he hurled a last glance at Uryū over his shoulder. Catching Ichigo's deliberate delay by the door, he purposely stared at his feet as though he was suddenly very interested in his white canvas shoes. When he was sure that Ichigo was no where near, he leaned heavily against the wall. Truth be told, the constant pain in his middle had yet to subside and his knees were almost trembling under his weight. Inhaling deeply, he removed the necktie from his collar, buttoned his shirt and smoothen any creases in disorder.

"Where is Ishida?"

The teacher was calling for him. Abandoning all ideas of going back to the toilet to rinse off the lingering rancid taste on his tongue, he admitted himself in and apologized for his tardiness.

If only school ended now…

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He thought someone up there would sympathize with his plague and let him have an undisturbed, comfortable journey. How terribly wrong he was. The sun blazed callously above Karakura, scorching the residents' very neck. And he had to tread slowly back home along the shade-less street…

His stomach was no longer doing ridiculous somersaults and flip-backs; it was twisting and grinding that when it hit its peak, Uryū was forced to stop in his tracks. Five minutes into his agonizing walk, piercing pain infiltrated his middle region.

_Damn._

Uryū lowered his bag onto the tarred road and clung to the wooden fence. Another stab to his stomach and a moan escaped his patched lips. Uryū clutched his abdomen, his torso inclining forward somewhat.

_His reiatsu._

As quick as his fatigued body would allow, he slung his bag over his shoulder and resumed his pace albeit in a more restrained manner, fighting hard to keep a straight face to masquerade his suffering.

"Ishida!"

He heard hurried footsteps. Then the caller ran past him and turned to face the bespectacled boy.

"Ishida-kun!"

This time, he twisted his neck to the back. Orihime and Sado were jogging towards him. He had a hunch that Orihime was not going to reiterate her recipe to him anytime soon; the typical smile that she used to carve on her façade was missing this afternoon. Somehow, he had a shrewd suspicion that Ichigo had informed them both about his state of health.

"Ishida-kun," Orihime stood by Ichigo, trying to catch her breath, "How are you feeling?"

_Hell._

"Fine… I'm fine. Don't worry. I'll… I'll just rest up at home…"

He pushed past Sado and continued along the path. Three more steps and he stopped to look at his friends again.

"And don't follow me."

"Man…" he heard Ichigo whined. Yes, he was that translucent to fathom.

Ishida forced his overworked form to proceed ahead, ignoring their intent eyes on his back. He was doubtful of how long he could keep his pretence up. Already his strength was ebbing, his eyes unfocused, and his limbs losing their feeling…

He noted their slipping reiatsu, not in the sense of magnitude but of location. Judging by their pulsation, their displacement from his location must be quite impressive. That was really fast, did they actually sprint back home?

It did not matter anymore.

Uryū doubled over, his hand pressed hard into his middle. Razor sharp blade sliced and shaved the lining of his stomach. And they cut deeper and deeper… layer by layer… ongoing and never ending…

His legs finally gave in and Uryū sagged to the ground. He propped his body up with an unsteady arm, all the while struggling to maintain a sitting position. And all of a sudden, the torment heightened to a whole new degree.

His mind buzzed as the excruciating slashes in his guts ravaged his severely weakened body. Cold sweat glistened on his forehead. He clenched his jaws, biting back groans of pain. It was too much… the pressure on his physical form was overbearing… it would not be long… his knotted brows relaxed… and his consciousness oozed fast from him.

A pair of arms wrapped around his shaking body.

"Ishida? Can you hear me?"

Blurred outlines surrounded him.

"How…"

"We masked our reiatsu. I know you're acting all tough so we hide ourselves to trail you. We're taking you to the hospital."

"No… K – Kurosaki… ugh!"

A fresh surge of agony tore within him. The vigorous movement of his body being lifted up aggravated his condition – Uryū pushed Ichigo away meekly and retched on the road. Without thinking, the orange haired boy leapt out of the puddle; there was hardly anything in it as he had probably emptied his content in school.

"Oh dear…"

"Ishida!"

Ichigo stretched his arms and caught him before he hit the ground. The boy was cold to his touch and white as sheet in the face. He could hear his raspy breathing, so he was not dead. Orihime and Sado knelt beside them looking almost as pale as Ishida. She was clasping her mouth in horror.

"Kurosaki-kun, we should take him to the hospital."

"No, it's too far away."

Ichigo jarred the unmoving body.

No response.

"Chad, take his bag. We're going to my place."

Without another word, he heaved Ishida up and the group sped to Kurosaki Clinic.

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Softness… warmth… heavy…

Pain.

His eyes fluttered open. Unsurprisingly, he found three forms bending over him – one was sporting orangey bristle, one with long flowing mane and the other was tanned.

It was _them_ again…

"Kurosaki… Inoue-san… Sado-kun," he greeted softly.

"You're awake. Dad, he's awake!"

Ishida grimaced at the ear-splitting shout.

"Oh?"

A gruff, deep voice was heard from the far end of wherever he was. _Wherever he was…_

"Where am I?" Ishida asked. He raised himself up and his friends backed off to provide him some space. Orihime put her palm on his forehead.

"Inoue-san…"

"I don't think you have a fever. You're not burning."

"I don't think he's here because of fever," Sado quipped.

"Oh, you're already sitting up. How is the pain? Lesser than before?"

An unknown figure showed up beside his bed. The man had stubble worth two weeks at least and a stethoscope coiled around his neck.

Ishida breathed more easily. So he was not at the hospital… or he _thought _he was not.

"So how does it feel?" the man enquired genially.

"Better, I guess. It's not as intense as… as the previous ones."

"Good, good."

"Where is this place?" Ishida chanced a question. The vividly orange haired boy came to a stand behind the doctor and scratched his scalp.

"Well, this is my father's clinic. He," Ichigo gestured to the smiling doctor, "is my father."

"Oh," his eyes skimmed over their contradicting hair colours. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kurosaki."

"No matter, kid. By the way, is school really that hectic lately, Ichigo?"

"Huh? Why d'you ask?"

"Uryū, is it that busy?"

"Err…"

That was unexpected. It was a very peculiar subject… and a very peculiar fashion of addressing him since this was only their first meeting.

"I guess so."

"Okay," Isshin tucked his hands into his pockets before speaking solemnly, "You cannot skip meals, you know. It's hazardous to your stomach. Now you have to take food in a consistent amount. I advise you set a fixed time for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Erratic time of eating is bad… You have to take something soft for the few days coming or you'll feel like throwing up after each swallow. I'll prescribe you antacid and something else to stop the nausea. Is that fine?"

"Oh… err… yes, Mr. Kurosaki."

Isshin gave him a sympathetic grin before disappearing into his office.

"He said you can go back after you take your medicine. Really, Ishida, is your health that inferior in comparison to those A's? You could've _died _if we didn't find you there –"

"No one will die of gastritis at that stage."

"Yeah, and when you need to puke again," Ichigo shoved a plastic basin onto Ishida's lap, "Use this. Save you a trip to the toilet."

The bespectacled boy peeled the sheets from his body and placed the container on the mattress. He swung his legs down.

"Whoa, you can use the basin."

"I need to use your lavatory."

"Oh."

Awkward silence settled.

"Well, go straight and turn left. The toilet is next to my dad's office."

Uryū rose to his feet. Orihime promptly rushed to him and held him firmly by the arms.

"Inoue-san, I can do this by myself."

"The toilet is pretty far –"

"I can do this alone."

"But –"

"Please."

Something well hidden in his voice tugged at her heartstring. She knew he did not intend to offend her. She knew he was not trying to act hero here. He just did not want to trouble his friends even further for his sake.

Reluctantly, she lowered her hands.

"Thanks."

Every movement he made gave a jagged jolt in his abdomen. He clutched his sides and limped gingerly to the washroom.

_Always the same, Ishida…_

Ichigo could only watch him trudge feebly to the end of the clinic's waiting chamber.

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"This better be important, Isshin."

"Well, I just want to ask whether your son is allergic to any specific medication."

A brief pause.

"Why do you ask?"

"Ah, it seems that he's having gastritis. It's good to know that he hasn't entered the ulcer stage _yet. _There's a good chance he will if he doesn't take care of himself."

"That's none of my concern," the reply came stiffly.

Isshin chuckled.

"Ryūken, the child passed out by the streets. If his friends hadn't sent him here –"

"And your point is?"

"I've stated my _point _earlier. Is Uryū allergic to any specific medication?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"You're unbelievable. Your son is in pain and you expect me to bug him while he's not even very conscious–"

"You just want me to feel worried and come over to see him."

Another brief pause.

"Well…"

"That's not going to work."

"Honestly, unless you mention it, no one will _dream _that you have a son."

But did he want a father like him?

Kurosaki Isshin talked on the phone, trying to coax the director of Karakura Hospital, Ishida Ryūken to drop by and pay a visit to his ill son… all the while oblivious to a certain bespectacled boy who was standing inconspicuously within shadows, hanging on to every single word exchanged between the two very unlikely acquaintances.


	2. Well Met Again

The walk back to the waiting room was not at all enjoyable. Maintaining steadiness and keeping the complaints between both cheeks were something difficult; acting as though nothing had happened was another. Unfortunately though, Isshin who had reappeared from the office spotted him emerging from the lavatory. He knew he could not say no to the doctor's inclination to accompany him up the hall. But that was not all. His friends were not themselves either… especially Orihime. Had they undergone some kind of a massive personality alteration during his miss? All of them split into wide make believe grins at the sight of him. He could tell though, how their eyes dulled in comparison to their smiles.

He plopped gratefully on the reclining mattress.

"Here, Uryū, your medicine. Ichigo, fetch some water."

Wordlessly, the orange haired boy left his seat, leaving a momentary silence behind which got punctured by Isshin when he popped a tablet out of its hollowed foil packet. Ichigo then came in and pushed the glass of water into Uryū's hand; Isshin dropped the tablet at the center of his free palm.

"Is it cold water, Ichigo?"

"No, it's warm."

"You'll make a good doctor someday."

Ichigo simply shrugged and folded his arms behind his neck. "Don't kid me."

_You'll make a good doctor someday…_

"_Uryū, what's your ambition when you've grown up into a man?"_

"_I want to be a doctor, a great one! Just like you Father!"_

His stomach swirled jaggedly. He forced his mind to shut for a while…

They all saw the ripples on the water's surface and the quick passing of a grimace.

"Ishida-kun? What's wrong?"

Furious at himself, he pitched the tablet into his mouth. No one would be able to question a man when he was taking his pills… including Orihime. He had only taken two mouthfuls of water when Isshin clasped a hand on Uryū's shoulder.

"That'll do. The tablet's down? Good. Don't drink so much or you'll throw up again. Sit back and try to make yourself comfortable."

Orihime took the glass from his grip – to which he thanked her – and he edged inwards until his back was against the wall. Isshin sealed a bag containing packets of his prescription and placed it beside Uryū before resting both hands on his knees.

"Now," he started, eyeing the boy before him sternly, "You're exhibiting symptoms of acute gastritis. I think you know that yourself. There isn't much modern medicine can do but a lot of things depend on how you manage yourself. For now, you have to go on fasting and drink only lukewarm water. Clear?"

Orihime raised a fair hand.

"Err… isn't he suppose to _eat _something? I mean, he has gastritis because he doesn't eat, does he?"

"No."

All heads turned to Sado upon his intervention.

"That is done to rest the stomach and allow the toxic condition causing the inflammation to subside."

Nobody spoke for a while.

"Well said," Isshin nodded approvingly.

"Whoa, now _you _have the making of a doctor, Chad!"

"Anyway Uryū, only after the symptoms recede are you allowed to adopt an all-fruit diet for the next three days. Take juicy fruits like melons and apples. Is that clear?"

"Warm water only for two to three days, then all-fruit diet for the next three days."

"Precisely."

Isshin stood up. Uryū took this as a permission of dismissal. He lifted himself from the bed gingerly and slipped on his shoes. As he headed for the main door, Isshin handed him the medicine and muttered softly so his words reached only the boy's ear, "You know, hurting yourself will only hurt the people around you. Take care, would you?"

The youth prodded his spectacles mechanically.

"Thank you, Mr. Kurosaki."

And with that, he left.

_Like father like son huh, Ryūken?_

Several footsteps clapped vociferously on the cemented pavement. All three teenagers were jogging out of the clinic.

"We're going out!"

"Hold on a second."

Casually, Isshin reached out a hand and grabbed the back of his son's collar. It cut into his Adam's apple, choking him in the process.

"What the hell is that for?" Ichigo yelled, massaging his probably bruised neck. Sado and Orihime watched their frolics incredulously. Both of them had already stopped running or they would be yanked to a halt by Isshin and risked crushing their larynx. Still, they did not dare to laugh, or make any noise at all at the expression Isshin had chiseled into his visage. Solemnly, the elder man spoke to them.

"You guys listen up. There's no point in following him wherever he goes. There'll be a time when you have to go back home and leave him alone. He needs his space. And is he by any chance living alone?"

They gestured in the affirmative.

"Okay," Isshin traced his lips with a finger. "I'm sure you want to help him… even then it has to be in the proper manner. But with you helping him… he's probably another rock-headed teenager harder than diamonds…"

"Huh, tell me about it."

"Just make sure he doesn't stay cooped up in his house. If possible, find some time for a day out. Fresh air is good but don't force him to do vigorous activities. The point is to get him do some breathing exercises."

"Oh!" Orihime exclaimed in comprehension. "Yoga! Ishida-kun can do yoga!"

"I don't think yoga suits him," Sado muttered to no one in particular.

"Ichigo, post this document for me."

"Oh, what?"

The orange haired teen took the brown envelope from his father with a puzzled look. To his shock, it had the district hospital as its addressee.

"Karakura Hospital? Is Ishida's condition this serious?"

Isshin scratched his stubbles. "Who said it's a health report concerning the boy's gastritis?"

Three raised eyebrows met his eyes.

Sighing, he said, "He doesn't have to receive treatment there. And if you guys want him far from that place, you just have to play your parts well. Go now, would you, Ichigo? The post office is about to close."

"No, wait, you better explain –"

"Let's go, Kurosaki-kun."

Orihime and Sado bowed respectfully to the doctor and zipped along the deserted road. Ichigo followed them reluctantly. He had never been an incredibly obedient child, or at least to his father's part and he certainly was not thinking about heeding his father's advice. He wanted to make a detour and take the other way… Uryū's way…

"Kurosaki-kun, you know we have to do this right?"

"I –"

Flashes of the Quincy behaving dejectedly when they discovered how he had lost his powers swerved into mind. He remembered how he avoided them, shied away from them… that was why so frequently he found himself cursing the pride of the Quincy. No wonder the tribe could never be bosom friends with the shinigami…

"I know, Inoue. The idiot would rather put up with the most horrible things than to have us near him now, right? I swear –"

A howl… _the_ howl.

They stopped abruptly in their walk and scrutinized the area about them. The ill presence of something so foul that it was possibly reeking of malevolence… there was no mistake of it. The piercing cries of something so chilly that it froze their very bones reverberated in the space.

It was the cry of a Hollow.

"Shit, it just has to show up now. Where's the resident shinigami when you needed him?"

"Ichigo, look."

A vortex cleaved in their dimension and an average size monster with calcium white mask for a face clambered out from the gap; its slit like eyes glowered menacingly at the three preys-to-be. It loomed before them, lashing a thick rubbery tongue, all the while threatening to sweep them off to the wall with a single whip.

"Damn it!"

Ichigo brandished his representative shinigami plague and held it readily in front of his chest. Just when he was about to knock his soul out of the physical encase, the Hollow split into two, its particles seeping briskly into the air.

"What the –"

Orihime dusted both palms contentedly as her companions ogled bewilderedly at the scene.

"Inoue…"

She beamed at the boys. "It's a low class Hollow. I think I can deal with it so I take charge."

She chortled nervously.

"Oh, good for you, Inoue."

A pale tinge of pink surfaced on her cheeks.

Another horrendous screech permeated the atmosphere. This time, none were taken by surprise; the unexpected encounter with the evil spirit had served as a possible forewarning for more of them around. They prepared themselves for the intruders of the human realm.

Sado cocked his ruffled head towards the far end of the road.

"It comes from over there."

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he sped to the opposite direction of their actual destination. Ichigo wondered why the haste… when a dreadful, empty-like sensation thudded in his middle. Realisation dawned.

_Ishida._

He broke into a speedy run with Orihime hot on his trails. Passing by pedestrians looked at the anxious trio tearing along the road with mild curiosity. Some even jumped out of the way to steer clear of any uneventful collisions. Ichigo did not care… Sado should be closer to the Quincy… they too were approaching the scene…

Not long now…

"Ishida!"

They braked to a stationary pose on either sides of Sado who presumably had arrived there three seconds before them. The bespectacled boy had both arms stretched in front of him; one of his hands was emitting smoke.

"Ishida…"

He dropped to his knees.

They lunged forward and crouched on the ground, forming a loose circle around the Quincy. Ichigo held Uryū firmly by the shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay? Ishida!"

The bespectacled boy gripped Ichigo's arm. Breathing heavily, he raised his head to face his friends.

"There's a Hollow… finished it off before you came…"

Ichigo stiffened his hold on Uryū as his voice trailed away. Tears were dangling from Orihime's lush eyelashes. It was a mistake after all… one that could almost cost Uryū his life. Thank Lord for this streak of pure luck that a mere weakling from Hueco Mundo was dispatched.

"Ishida, no – I'll take you –"

"Stop fussing, Kurosaki."

"No, we should walk you home –"

"Sado-kun, not you too."

_Ishida-kun…_

She mopped her face and collected the medicine scattered on the streets. It was only what she could do.

"Your medicine."

She held the bag to the bespectacled boy. Uryū, taken aback by her lack of babbles, took it from her trembling fingers.

"Thank you, Inoue-san."

She did not look at him. And it pained him.

"Inoue-san…"

"Ishida-kun, I'm so sorry!"

He gaped at her, alarmed at her sudden outburst. She wrung her head desperately and balled up a corner of her skirt with still shaking fists. He wanted to calm her down, to pacify her baseless guilt… but as much as he wanted to do so, his vision swam out of focus and something akin to a baton hammered at the top of his skull.

"I really want to help, I really do! I've asked them so many times! I asked them to heal you but they said they aren't allowed to deal with human illness! I don't know what they mean because they can reject negative incidents and such… I've asked them…"

She asked them. Asked, instead of _ordered_ when she had absolute control over the Shun Shun Rikka. _Her _Shun Shun Rikka. He would not mind even if she did not enquire the angelica beings of his predicament. He had long accepted this truth that he was sick.

"Inoue-san, it's all right. Even if they do heal me, maybe the gastritis will recur –"

"No it's not all right! You deserve something better!"

"No, please –"

His body seized up and his stomach reeled like a washing machine. Uryū clutched his middle while his other hand was on Ichigo's clavicle, determined to shove him away from his form. His inside stirred and weaved… he thought that was it.

His fingernails dug deep into his skin and Ichigo's. He braced himself for another fit of retching…

He only let out a silent burp.

"Ishida?"

Ichigo wrenched the bespectacled boy's palm from his shoulder.

"D'you think we should take him back to the clinic?"

"No, Inoue-san. I'm fine. Really."

This was the truth. The pain was not as prominent that he could easily distract himself away from it. Even the dizziness had inexplicably vapourised.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Uryū lowered Ichigo's hands on him and made to get up. Everything felt okay. Just okay. Save for the weather. A distant flare of lightning followed by the roar of thunder shook the very ground they were standing on. The air was damp and starting to pick on its speed.

A storm would be grazing Karakura.

"Everyone, please stop worrying and go back. I'll be fine. I_ feel_ fine."

A drop of rain fell on his lens.

_They won't budge…_

"Goodbye."

He turned and walked swiftly away from his friends. Not sensing any pain, his careful steps graduated into a run. And soon, his silhouette was consumed by darkness and then, to Ichigo, Orihime and Sado, he was gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was very aware of every stride he took. Home was a few blocks away. He could make it before he got drenched by the downpour. Yes, there was still time. If he kept up with his pace, he could reach home dry.

Rain splattered hard on zinc and ceramic roof tiles. Uryū dashed into his house, his body soaking in his own sweat. He felt feverish. The stark contrast of temperature between the arctic town outside and the stuffy air of his abode was kindling his restlessness. Three minutes ago he was shivering in cold. Now he was sticky all over.

Uryū removed his shoes and slumped onto the single sized bed. His mind raced with those very fresh events…back then, when he vanquished the Hollow… Ichigo, Orihime and Sado somehow managed to arrive there. He did not see them… he only heard them calling his name as he was fully drained after shooting a single spiritual arrow.

Kurosaki Ichigo… and an envelope was in his hand.

Uryū turned over to bury half of his face in his pillow. He saw it. Karakura Hospital. The envelope was to be sent to Karakura Hospital. No one had to be a genius to tell what the content of the documents were.

Ryūken must not know. Must not…

_Must not…_

"_Uryū, you must not be afraid of the storm. Fear is only a figment of your imagination."_

"_When is Father coming back?"_

"_Ah," a man in his ripened age sighed. He looked kindly at the boy nestled in his blankets. "Ryūken is probably still busy in the hospital. He'll be back soon."_

"_But, Grandpa, Father said he'd be back for dinner!"_

"_Yes, I know that."_

_The aged man checked the clock by the bed. It was even too late for supper._

"_You need to sleep, Uryū. You have to wake up early tomorrow for school."_

_He tucked the boy into bed and stroked his grandson's cheek. "Good night."_

The velvety night sky shone brightly fleetingly when a flash of lightning seared the clouds, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. Every youngster inhabiting the block clasped their little hands over their ears, blocking the horrifying din from their hearing. Caring mothers pulled their children into a consoling hug and whispered words of comfort to the frightened souls.

A lone form, Ishida Uryū, who was sprawled on his bed in the dim bedroom, had heard nothing.

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Two days whizzed past his dreadful life. It was Thursday, and he was supposed to be in school. He was not counting on his friends, namely Ichigo and company, to bring him school work and notes from lessons. Neither was he acquainted to anyone else close enough to ask for such favour. But he really wanted them… or he would be swathed in countless assignments as soon as he got back. Should he ring them and drop off reminders?

"_But you're sick, Ishida-kun! You should rest more!"_

"_I swear Ishida… you'd die happy knowing you've bagged the A, wouldn't you?"_

Yes, those sounded more like it.

He had been abiding the "Two-days-fasting" rule proposed by Ichigo's father. It probably helped in some ways, he did not know, or he might have been oblivious about it. For a couple of days straight, he lay in bed, too tired and weak to walk around the house. Occasionally he would have to heave himself to the bathroom for a quick shower or to the toilet for a leak. He tried not to overpressure his self so he had a thermos flask on his bedside table to preserve the warm water in it. That would save him from the tedious walk to the kitchen…

Slowly, he sat upright on the mattress, allowing blood to circulate more liberally in his veins. If there was one thing he loathed other than buttons, it would have been procrastination. The idea of him lounging about like an obese sloth while his classmates were working their brains raw for mid-term exam just ticked him.

His hand itched for a pen, a good revision book and a blank sheet of paper.

_This is crazy…_

Why hang around at home waiting for homework when he could go to them? The bookstore was not so far… it was just practically downstairs! Setting his mind, he dressed up and pocketed a worn out wallet which was peeling at its flaps. Before long, Uryū was treading the pathway to a neighbouring block.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was not a very luxurious and elaborate book store – just a nice, modest one with sufficient selection of reading materials to satisfy everyone's needs. Rows of book shelves with multiple choices of encyclopedia stood smugly against the pastel painted walls. It just radiated some sort of studious vibe over the place that the bespectacled boy could finally let his guard down and strolled leisurely between magazine racks.

His hands brushed past pages of _Readers Digest _brand new editions. And then he caught sight of _Fun with Arithmetic _and _Sudoku _embossed on their gleaming hard covers. He knew what prices they came in, so sadly, he could never afford to take them home. But he could still flip through them… solving one or two simple quizzes…

He ambled down the columns of high school education materials, leaving the "Light Reading" section. Besides the fact that not many people frequent the store at this time, the systematic manner of books arrangement was one of the prime reasons as to why he became its regular. There was another rival store a kilometer along the streets; Uryū noticed that it was slightly better in the aspect of price branding.

But being ill, Uryū did not feel like walking for another ten minutes.

After a short scanning at the shelves, he found papers with clippings at their backbones paraded neatly on the polished surface. Majority had words of enlarged fonts like "Topical Test: Chemistry" or "1001 Modern Mathematics: Questions and Solutions" printed on the front pages. These self-assessment exercises were great. Nobody had to fork out a fortune for them and contrary to popular beliefs, they were definitely worth doing despite being cheap. Uryū stood on his toes and reached for "Chemistry Paper 1" placed on a higher rack.

A short, sharp sting whipped across his middle.

Uryū retracted his arm and pulled it to his stomach. Swearing softly under his breath, he gripped the shelf and rested his temple on his wrist. A young child, roughly around the age of seven was staring avidly at him. And unsuspectingly, he inched nearer to the teenage boy when Uryū made to turn his head elsewhere.

"O-nii san, do you want to sit?"

It took Uryū by surprise. He thought the boy would have left by the time he cast a fake glance over the booklets. But he did not. Or he _thought _he did not. His hazy vision did not allow him to make out even the titles of the books.

_Damn._

"What are you doing here?"

Spontaneously, he dropped his hand to his side and wheeled around defiantly to the voice. The cold, empty drawl… not a single trace of emotion was laced in it…

_It couldn't be… not him!_

Right as rain.

Standing there, unmoved and steely, was a man with silvery short hair donning a grayish, crisply ironed suit. His frosty eyes impaled the youngster in front of him, giving him the searching look Uryū had known only too well. The latter did not stir nor did he show any signs of recognition.

The young kid hurried by, not wanting to be netted in the animosity between them.

"Ryūken."

"Hmph," the elderly sniffed apathetically. Uryū took a deep breath before walking past the stationary figure as he prayed to be at least granted a painless walk back home, if not out of the sight of his father. It did not matter if he had not bought anything; since this was one of the things he would not take chances for, he would rather depart empty handed and rely on the battered text books at home.

"You're coming back with me."

Silence, unbroken, un-shattered poured into the space. He froze at it.

_Back with me._

Back with his father.

"No."

Ryūken had foreseen this. His son was just as obstinate as every other Ishida but this stubbornness is plainly of a fool; an idiot who was too thick to see the severity of his own biological system. How he ended up here in the bookshop with his son was still a mystery to him. Of course he was vaguely certain that he had trailed Uryū's reiatsu in the first place, thus locating him where they both were now.

"Go home," the younger male stated curtly, "I won't follow you."

Like he said, Uryū was a fool.

He let the boy walked out of the store. He knew he was totally capable of heaving his son onto his shoulder and then dragging him away because for as far as he cared, the boy had to be taken back. Taken back where, that would be the next question once the boy was safely strapped in the car with his seat belt. Though the prospect was appealing – Lord knows how difficult the boy could be – making such a scene would never be wise. Ryūken did not really have the patience to be charged with nonsensical felony like abduction.

So, now what? Should he resort to any random drastic measures?

Isshin better not be joking.

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Uryū looked swiftly behind him, checking if the man was still tagging along. Deep down, he knew it was quite unlikely for Ryūken to sneak up upon an adversary, or in this case his son, because to the Quincy, it was plain cowardice.

But Ryūken never upheld the Quincy's pride.

He shuffled hastily to a secluded corner of Block A. Just four more blocks to go and he would be barricaded by the four walls of his home. He forged on, passing Block B… Block C… he saw the blue apartment of his residence…

Block D…

Block E, he would never make it.

Uryū tripped over, blinded by the hot, white pain in his stomach. If his past condition was peppered with shaving ache, he really did not know how to describe his present one. He felt so estranged… and the only company he had was the charring agony shredding his mid-section. Too much energy was focused to staying conscious and alert that with a blink of an eye, he found himself writhing on the asphalt road.

Then he felt he was not so alone anymore. There was another person present, and he was extremely close to his hurting form.

He did not speak. Uryū did not know his identity. Gently but firmly, the person hauled his upper body up. The younger boy sensed an arm supporting his back. Each time he shivered, it clinched harder at the edge of his shoulder as though trying to shoo the trembles away.

Another torrent of merciless cut ravaged him. The boy jerked forward, accidentally bringing his face to the person's chest. There was no space for embarrassment now… there was only a fissure of deep agony.

His hand numbed from clenching his abdomen so forcefully. As the skewering intensified, his consciousness died… bit by bit… even if shouting would ease the misery, he had not the vim to do so.

Delicately, he was lifted up to his feet. But the person had been considerate; he was bearing most of the bespectacled boy's weight. They took several flimsy steps noiselessly, except for the occasional gasps and sudden intake of air when the gastritis shot up in the boy's guts. And when it happened, the other individual would automatically stop the walk.

Uryū panted, mildly winded by the circumstances. Through his confusion, logic had yet to fail him. He wondered wildly at this indiscreet loophole he was missing…

Why did the person not ask him what was happening? How did he know where the teen lived? He had not asked for an address.

Beaten, he studied the kindly entity through foggy pupils.

"Don't move. I won't carry you if you fainted."

_Just my day._

"Ryūken…"


	3. Hot Pack

Ryūken staggered somewhat as he tugged gingerly at his son's body; the younger one had one of his arms slung over his father's shoulder. There was too little energy contained in his frail form that unable to look up, his head hung loosely on his chest. Plus this way, he would not be able to see whatever was taking place. Or rather _whoever _was beside him, not that this would help lessen the embarrassment he was condemned with. He despised himself greatly. It must be stupendously pathetic – him actually leaning on the one man he had no respect for… it was definitely the last thing his pride would allow him to do.

His stomach warped nastily and his knees melted under his weight. Sensing his son slipping under his grasp, Ryūken held on tighter to Uryū's hip and supported him up to break his fall.

"I'm – I'm fine," the bespectacled boy breathed, tensing at his father's grip around his waistband.

Ryūken made no signs of hearing the feeble remark. Instead, he plunged a hand into Uryū's trousers pocket in search for a particular object.

A jingling of something metal-like chimed in what narrow space between them. He fished out a bundle of keys and inserted a tarnished one into the keyhole.

Uryū groaned very softly and quivered under the prickling twinge. At a more quickened pace, the older man rotated the key and pushed the door wide enough to admit them both. He heaved his son guardedly and directed the perspiring figure into the hall.

"There's – there's a couch around the corner."

Wasting no more time, Ryūken steered the boy who was getting more and more fatigued under the stress burdening him physically. Every now and then, Uryū's eyes peeled open as he desperately drew several frugal breaths. And there were also times when he seemed to be off and unaware of where he was lead to. Ryūken had considered picking the boy up and drop him on the seats to save the fuss but thought otherwise; knowing Uryū, he would probably push his father away and injured himself on the ground.

The child was beginning to weigh on him.

Ryūken lowered the pallid boy's body onto the sofa and placed him half-lying on the cushions with his back slumped onto a feather pillow. He doubted the boy was any conscious by the time they darkened the doorsteps. But as much as he wanted his son to retain wakefulness, he knew that when Uryū did come around later, it would not be any better either.

Gastric acid burnt and scorched the lining of his inflamed stomach, eating away the protective layer of mucous and its epithelium…

It was sawing away his senses.

Uryū winced and snapped a feverish hand on his middle. Delirious with pain, he wheezed and shut his eyes fiercely, submerging his vision in sheer darkness. Soon, there were no images, no sounds, no motions…

Only pain; and it was cradling him into an abyss of nothingness…

_Nothingness._

"Can you hear me?"

Someone distant was calling, calling to him…

Ryūken clasped his son's shoulder mechanically. The latter could only make an indistinctive murmur of acknowledgement. His visage remained unchanged, holding no hints whatsoever as to recognizing his father's voice and the subtle movement. The elder man peered down at the boy. The healthy Uryū would have pushed him away and demanded space but all he caught from the partially opened lips were several strangled chokes. He got up and made his way to the bathroom to inspect a solitary medicine cabinet.

He raised two hoary eyebrows at the mere sight of it.

It was totally barren save for a finishing bottle of antiseptic and several rolls of gauzes. Dust accumulated on the surface which was not under the objects. He closed it with a rugged sigh and walked to a corner in the living room where the kitchen was. There, he ransacked every one of the drawers in such a speed that it was amazing the ruckus of silverware clanging on wood did little to wake the boy up. Finally, after five minutes of vain scouring, Ryūken took a rag hanging by the wok and filled a glass with water, all the while hurling inconspicuous glances at the child. He then stepped into the stifling hall and put all of those on a coffee table adjacent to the occupied couch.

"Uryū," he called again as he bend over the form.

The bespectacled boy uttered nothing. The only indication of consciousness was he tightening his fist on his stomach each time the pain pinched. Ryūken spread the cloth below his son and positioned the glass nearer so that it would be within his reach.

Uryū did not know what to do anymore. He thought of shifting to different positions to ease the discomfort but when he twitched even a nanometer, his stomach screamed in agony as though successfully exploding into many tiny bits. So he thought of inhaling deeply to relieve the pain but for some reasons, his lungs did not want to cooperate, leaving him choking with his second gulp of air down the trachea. Even being in his half-sitting posture was not all comfortable; his back itched as sweaty skin rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and compressed by the old feather pillow. But all these superficial distractions often cascaded out of his mind when the jabbing resumed its tempo, forever biting into his flesh.

His glum eyes raked the wall and caught the clock hanging on it.

5.25 p.m.

How long had he been this way? He remembered checking his watch before he strolled down the revision books' column in the bookshop… before he ill-fatedly ran into his father… Yes, his father. Odd, his reiatsu was nowhere near, he was sure of it. He was very much alone in his house.

Uryū stripped his eyes wider and took in the very familiar view of his own abode. It was slightly cluttered in certain areas since he had not the mood and strength to really tidy this place up.

_What is that on the table? _

It looked like a glass… with water in it. He swallowed hard and carefully extended an arm for the glass. His building thirst could do with some of that… it would be nice to quench it… how thoughtful of him to leave drinks here…

_Like it's going to change anything…_

Uryū brought its rim to his cracked lips and downed half of the refreshing fluid. It pleasantly wet his tongue, before flowing slickly down his throat, its cooling property tingling down to his middle… when everything churned violently that hastily, he inclined forward to throw up onto the rag.

The bronze door knob twisted.

For once, he was thankful he got back earlier.

Ryūken placed his purchase by the shoe rack and went up the ill boy, ignoring the floor which was littered with repulsive substances and some kind of colourless liquid.

A glass rolled to a halt when it collided with the coffee table's leg with an insignificant bump.

Uryū, panting, wiped his chin carelessly. He did not anticipate that or he would have chanced a quick scamper to the toilet bowl… even if it was beyond his might. Ryūken pushed his son effortlessly onto the pillow and dabbed a large piece of facial tissue on his grimy hands and sweaty face. Somewhat panicked, he inspected the coffee-ground material staining a small spot which he had watchfully avoided whilst approaching his son. He had to admit, that was slightly disturbing. He thought that blithe Kurosaki Isshin was merely trying to pull his leg, divulging all critical specifics of the child's condition and hoping to catch him off guard. As if he was going to fall for that. This was his son they were talking about – the last generation of the Ishida. Regardless how talent-less he might be, Uryū was still a man. He did not bring up sissies who could not even stand on his two feet. Furthermore, he himself chose to leave home. He himself vowed to take care of his life.

He himself decisively declared severing ties with his old man.

"_You're not leaving!"_

"_Yes I am! I've had enough of your ridiculous philosophy!"_

_And you can forget about having a son, Ryūken._

Could he?

Uryū turned to the cushions, averting his face from his father. Covering his mouth with a hand, he let out a gurgling cough. He inwardly prayed for it to stop; the hacking was causing his abdomen muscles all worked up, amplifying the piercing sensation. He must have offended someone up there… for him to deserve such an ordeal. Ryūken watched his son buckling under the infirmity. Isshin was not joking. Alas, when it came down to a doctor's integrity, a doctor's words were nothing but the truth and facts. Isshin was right.

Uryū's case was serious.

Ryūken tossed the damp tissue into a bin behind him while studying a sliver of his son's features intently. Already the younger one appeared to be wandering away. Perhaps it would be better. At least he would be oblivious to everything. That would be mercy.

Ryūken lowered his hand to Uryū's collar. Getting hold onto the zip, he pulled it down its track noiselessly and when it barely passed the sternum, a hand closed quite firmly around his wrist, forcing him to stop mid air. Ryūken looked up at the boy, expecting to see a sleeping patient who was only acting out of pure reflex. But this time, it was not it. He discerned the struggle his son was ensnared within, battling for some non-existent vigour and awareness. The bespectacled boy flicked an eyelid up, revealing a strained pupil staring insolently at his father.

"What…"

Ryūken pried the icy fingertips and let it fell limply to the boy's side.

"Keep quiet and don't move too much."

He pulled the zip down and brushed the shirt away from the heaving torso. In a second, both father and son were covered with a thick scabbard of very awkward stillness and silence only to be unsheathed by a gasp when something tepid was pressed into the boy's aching stomach. A split second later, its warmness crept about his midriff, soothing whatever slicing soreness devouring that part of his body. Though it was not completely gone but he was happy enough to feel only dull thuds and blunt stabs. Miracle, that was… but even doctors could not just extract suffering from patients like a farmer harvesting radishes. Wait… was his father not the one attending to him now? He did not realize such of a Quincy technique… some kind which could alleviate pain. Or had his father mastered kidō of some sorts?

Breathing easier, Uryū opened his weary eyes and looked down his front, hoping to see a hand gloved in an orb of emerald glow extended over his upper body.

No, the room was devoid of green glows. There was only his father; his left hand resting on his son's stomach pressing a package into the fair skin.

"Hot pack," he said indifferently, his eyes still focused on the heat-giving item, "It relieves the pain."

"You –"

"It's my duty as a doctor," he intervened swiftly. Not caring to look at his son, he stood up and adjusted his necktie. "You're a mess, Uryū. Hasn't anyone taught you the importance of food?"

The boy gazed blankly at the ceiling. He was not very interested in this "chat" either.

"That isn't of your concern."

"Don't take your condition so lightly. This isn't common gastritis anymore."

"How would you know? Did Mr. Kurosaki tell you that?"

Ryūken fixed a stare squarely on his son's facade. The thing is, Uryū had _always_ been given this stare since a child that if Ryūken thought this could intimidate him, he was wrong, v_ery _wrong.

"Don't speak of things you don't know of," he finally said in that controlled demeanour unique to him. Uryū returned the glare to his father. _His eyes_… so similar to his… it always reminded him that he was his son, a_lways._

"Why do you care?"

Son or not, he obviously did not see him as his father anymore.

"I would do nothing to stop your foolish actions and decisions. But to throw your life away so recklessly is beyond foolishness."

The boy said nothing.

"Are you coming to the hospital or not?"

The teen closed his eyes. He had listened enough. His father must have correctly interpreted the sudden muteness for he turned his heels and disappeared into the bathroom. Uryū could not care less. The man could take care of whatever business he had and then, out he goes. He did not ask for this. He did not beg for his sympathy. It was just a matter of coincidence – their coincidental meeting that is. It just happened. That man did not be there on purpose. They were done. He had had a chance to prove himself worthy of a father and a Quincy. And he failed miserably.

Miserably…

"_Father, I feel miserable."_

"_Really? Come here, Uryū."_

_A raven haired toddler wobbled to a tall, svelte man who was standing in front of a majestic collection of health journals. Turning his back to the bookcase, he knelt and welcomed the young boy into a warm embrace._

"_It's so hot in here, Father," he complained._

"_Are you getting a fever?"_

_The man felt his son's forehead and frowned faintly._

"_Uryū, did you play in the rain yesterday?"_

"_Err…" came the guilty stammers._

_The man shook his head in dismay before getting to his feet. He then took the boy's hand in his and walked him out of the darkening study chamber. After a short stroll around the corner, they entered yet another room which was also cast in shadows. The lights were not switched on._

"_Come on, in you go."_

_The boy released his father's hand and cantered into his bedroom, showcasing a blast of youthful energy which was never meant for a supposedly sick child. The man sighed and walked in after the boy who was already perched on the edge of his bed. Mustering the cutest pout ever known to mankind, he looked at his father with astonishing sparkling eyes._

"_All right."_

_The older one pulled the cross-adorned comforter up to the child's chin and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He then ruffled his son's hair affectionately before heading for the door, still ajar._

"_Father?"_

_He paused in his steps._

"_Do you want to know what Mother said before she died?"_

_He looked at his son amidst the sinking gloominess. The boy was staring at those incandescent glow-in-the-dark planets pasted on the wall opposite the bed. His father had stuck them there with glue._

"_What did she say?"_

"_She said if there's anything wrong in the future, always look for Father because he's a great doctor and an honourable man."_

_The child rolled over to his side._

"_Thank you, Father."_

_With a snap, the door closed behind a slightly teary-eyed man sporting several strands of silver hair. He leaned against the door, memories of the very recent funeral the family had just held gushed in his mind. The melancholy came in full pang, seeing her settled in the casket, seeing the layer of glass separating her from him and their only offspring, and seeing her lowered into Earth…Now he had only his son. He did not want to lose him too. _

"_Sleep tight, Uryū."_

_The boy knew his father was crying. Because he was too._

"_O-kaasan…"_

_He yanked the sheets up to bury his face in it._

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Having stocking up the poorly equipped medicine cupboard, Ryūken traced his steps back to the kitchen and ladled rice gruel into a cup from a steaming pot. He set the murky whitish liquid on the coffee table as hushed as he could; Uryū was finally getting his forty winks. His hand was holding the hot pack flaccidly at its place. Ryūken disposed the soiled rag and mopped the floor dry. Then he bustled around the stoves to prepare a number of meals suitable for the consumption of a gastritis patient. It did not matter even if he cooked too many sets; he could store them in the refrigerator and Uryū could easily heat them up when he felt like eating. It was very convenient.

There, he was done. Uryū could do with some hydration after vomiting, but at the moment, he did not really want to rouse him from his brief respite. Judging by the bags beneath his sunken lids, he must have been skiving sleep. And it was understandable. That was why he had to seek treatment fast.

If his condition did not pick up, he would drag him to the hospital personally.

Ryūken opened the window to allow natural breeze ventilate the room. Some air would help… one way or another. So the food was ready, first aid accessories sufficed, the house was cleaned…

It was time.

He looked at his son once more. Was it only in his sleep did he appear so unperturbed and innocent? He reflected the child he used to be twelve years ago, back when he was always clinging to both his Father and Mother. Twelve years later – now – so much, just so much of him had differed from the past.

Ryūken removed the boy's spectacles and placed them on the table top.

_I wish we could end up somewhere._

"Goodbye, Uryū."

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"Ah Ichigo, why are we walking here? Isn't the field somewhere _behind _this apartment? We should turn at the previous junction you know."

"I know, Kon."

"Then why are we here?"

The lion folded his cotton arms and crumpled his face in deep thinking. Ichigo counted two seconds when the loud entity burst out saying, "Ah Ichigo! Are you trying to stalk a girl living in this block? Is she beautifully endowed in the valley of happine –"

Ichigo slammed the _very _annoying toy onto the gravel and was about to bellow whatever reprimands which come to mind when the tail of his eye caught something… or someone giggling. He spun around to see who it was. At least the pair of girls – one had positively been reduced to tears of laughter, the other was whispering to her friend's ear – were not from school. Ichigo caught muffled words like "mad bloke" and "talking to his doll". He, on the other hand, did not find it as amusing as her cackling friend did.

The girls hurried away at Ichigo's glinting eyes. He assumed that he looked scary though it was not how he intended to project himself. Anyway – he rolled his eyes over the many windows facing his direction – he had something else on mind. He picked the stuffed lion from ground and jabbed both thumb and index finger into its mouth.

"Oi, get out – my cavities, idiot –"

Ichigo dug out a lime green spherical pill and instantly, the fidgety plaything wilted in his clutch. He slipped it into his khaki knapsack and poked the pill down his throat.

"Ichigo!"

He looked at the caller who appeared in the shape of his body.

"I didn't give permission to be taken out of my body and be inserted into yours!"

He sounded disgruntled but outwardly, he seemed incredibly exuberant with this unprompted arrangement. Ichigo slapped his forehead when Kon did a dozen of push-ups and bounded three stories high into the air.

"Listen, Kon. I need you to get into Ishida's room. He didn't pick up his damn phone and I want to see what's happened to him."

"Huh?"

Kon landed gracefully beside the shinigami. "This isn't appropriate. You didn't even come to his place when he got hurt in battles. Heck you didn't visit Sado and Orihime when _they _were injured. Why the sudden worry about him?"

"Dad said to keep an eye on him."

Kon eyed him incredulously. Ichigo shrugged and scanned the windows again.

"Wounds heal, Kon. His is different. One second he's okay and the next he's on the floor. Just go up and check on him all right."

"Why don't _you_ go and check on him?"

"Hah, and leave you here in my body? I don't think so. Go up, Kon."

The last few words were laced with muddled uneasiness. Kon heard it but did not want to point it out. He guessed he could be nice when he wanted to, but that did not deny the fact that it was weird for Ichigo not to ring the doorbell and be done with it. But Ichigo had had enough on his plate… perhaps he should do something to be of assistance. He lived in his cupboard after all.

Kon scrutinized the area for Uryū's reiatsu. He had never been here and he knew Ichigo would not have known Uryū's exact location since he failed to mention which window to break into… should the need arise. This must be their lucky day; that very window was already conveniently open. Agilely, Kon leapt like gravity did not exist and crouched at the sill, balancing his weight on a protruding plank as he searched the room for signs of livelihood.

The fan and lights were off; no funny noises like slippers smacking on ceramic tiles or the whistling of a boiling kettle…

It was utterly desolate.

Finding no one in the vicinity, Kon welcomed himself in and took a couple of tentative steps. He thought he sensed the reiatsu somewhere but the source was absent. That was until he discovered a disheveled outline on the couch.

He need not advance further.

"Ichigo!" he bawled at the top of his lungs from the window, "Come up here! He's in!"

The shinigami jumped into the stagnant room at the call. He thought it was a mistake in the modified soul's part as it was so apparent that no one was in it.

"Kon, are you trying to be funny? Ishida's not –"

"He's here. Be quiet – he's asleep."

The orange haired boy clad in black tiptoed to his solid standing form.

"I think he just got laid," Kon commented with a lingering tone of awe.

Kon only saw the worn out expression etched clearly in his deadened façade and the bare flesh of his pale torso exposed to the uninvited visitors. But Ichigo saw otherwise. And he was sorry that he ever had to see a friend like this. He wondered how many inner lashings had the teenage boy tolerated to wind up thus.

He bowed over Uryū. The boy really was not aware of the intruders, and they were all in such close proximity.

"What's that?"

Kon pointed at the package on the sleeping boy's stomach. Ichigo who had noticed it earlier could roughly presume it but just to make sure, he felt the surface of the item. He had seen one of these at home. His father would usually give them free to senior citizens with rheumatism.

"It's a hot pack."

_Still warm…_

"Kon, can you detect any housebreaking or – or such? But that's nonsense… what robbers would want to give him hot packs…Or maybe any fresh presence when you came in just now?"

"No," Kon scratched the carroty bristles absent mindedly. "Why?"

"The idiotic Ishida wouldn't know something like this. Hot packs, really… If he knew this much, he should have the brain to take care of his health."

Ichigo leveled himself with Kon. "Let's go."

"Wait," Kon jerked the already walking shinigami by the forearm. Ichigo stared bewilderedly at his physical body.

"I think he's waking up."

Uryū stirred in his place as his lids fluttered open. To Ichigo, it seemed that it took too much effort just to open his eyes. They both knelt beside the un-well boy and pushed the weak structure onto the cushions when Uryū made to sit up.

"Now you two behave like Inoue-san."

It stung.

"D'you have to insult your friends? Inoue is losing her appetite in school because of you! And if I'd know –"

"Kurosaki."

Uryū forced himself up and leaned on the sofa despite hisses of disapproval. Ichigo was about to pull him down when Kon yanked his black sleeves.

"What Kon?" he snapped half-yelling.

"Now who's insulting his friend?" Uryū retorted as he pressed the hot pack deeper into his middle, his brows knotted profoundly.

"How are you feeling?"

He smiled meekly at Ichigo's alarm as he tilt his head upwards and look at a random spot on the ceiling fan.

"It's all right. My glasses… thanks."

He took the spectacles from Kon and thrust it behind his ears. Then no one seemed to want to speak. He was not sure whether it was because they simply ran out of topics or because they did not want to pressure him talking. He did not mind talking, seriously, as it would probably take his mind off the aching famine. He wanted to eat, but he knew his guts would never allow him to satisfy his hunger. And what was the point of belching out food which had not even gotten the chance to be absorbed into his blood? At this rate, he would be anorexic, no problem…

A dreary rumble emanated from Uryū. Both look-alike figures stood up and marched in sync to the kitchen, earning a clasp to their shoulders.

"Don't bother…"

"Are you kidding? D'you want to starve yourself to death?"

"No, I mean… I'll fix my own dinner. It's getting late now. Don't you want to go back home?"

Uryū relinquished his flimsy grip on both forms and trudged light headedly to the door. He held it open before turning to them. "You can go back properly anyway. I don't think jumping down the window would be… acceptable."

"But –"

Uryū would not hear of it.

"Uh, okay. Just wait up a sec."

Ichigo produced a plaque engraved with a skull motive and knocked it onto Kon's forehead. The green pill shot out from his mouth, which Ichigo caught and pushed into the lion's facial orifice.

"You take care of yourself, Ishida," Ichigo, restored in his original self, said sharply at the awaiting boy. The latter nodded plainly and watched his classmate vanishing down the apartment's stairs.

His stomach gave another booming grumble. Resigned, Uryū closed the door and decided that maybe something light would meet his needs. He hobbled to the kitchen. A simple sandwich would do.

He opened the mini refrigerator expecting to see an almost empty jar of peanut butter so he must have had a humongous shock at the real sight of it.

Every level of rack was loaded with plastic containers containing food of diverse colours and kinds, mostly consisting of fruits and beans. All of them were labeled with particular time and dates. Some even had short notes scribbled so minutely like "After medicine" or "Before sleep". It had been months since he had time to sit and eat such a filling meal, what's more preparing them. He moved away from the fridge, still dazed at those provisions and turned to the thermos flask. Another note was attached to it.

_Take rice gruel twice daily. It's an excellent remedy for your case. Take 1 tablespoon of rice, wash well and put in 3 cups of water. Let it cook. Stir from time to time. Add slightly more water as per thickness. In about 15 minutes when the rice is cooked, mash it well into the water. Stir to a slightly thick consistency. Strain to eliminate film. Drink warm. _

_P/s: There are 3 bottles of rice gruel by the kettle. _

"_If there's anything wrong in the future, always look for Father because he's a great doctor and an honourable man…"_

Always look for Father…

Exhausted from the pain, Uryū sank to the floor, the note crumpled within his weak grasp.


	4. Picture of You

_Why did they end up here?_

_Uryū's reiatsu was not as consistent as when he had left him. Kon certified this, too. He did not want to think of anything bad happening to his friend, but it appeared that nothing good had befallen the boy either. Not wanting to take risks, he informed his father of this and together, they sped to Uryū's apartment. The lion wanted to tag along, so Ichigo stuck him in his bag pack. He was glad that they made a detour to the house. He really was._

"Tsk, this is bad."

Carefully, Isshin pried the unconscious boy's eyelid as he flashed a beam of torchlight at the sapphire iris. His pupils neither constricted nor relaxed. The doctor switched his light off and pressed the cold surface of his stethoscope on Uryū's chest, straining for his heart's rhythm. Satisfied, he clamped the strap of liquid crystal thermometer on the boy's forehead.

Ichigo looked on at his father's meticulous routine without much anticipation. Wondering whether it was best to keep this issue silent or to ring Sado and Orihime right after he got back home, he stood up and approached the doctor when the latter was done with his patient.

"How's Ishida?"

Isshin folded his arms. "I can't tell much with a stethoscope and a thermometer. This is worse than I thought it would be. Tsk, seriously…"

The orange haired boy was oblivious to the man's rambling – Kon was making his way up to his head.

"Oi, don't treat my ear as your stepping stone."

"Shut up! You stash me in your bag for three hours already! And," he glanced around the sullen room, "why are we here ag – oh."

His button eyes were glued to the stationary form before the Kurosaki.

"Who are you calling?" Ichigo asked when his father flipped his cell phone's mouthpiece open.

"Someone important. Go to his room and pack some of his clothes. Get his toiletries also."

"What? Is he coming to stay with us?"

"No."

Isshin spoke no more and hung up only to dial furiously on the number pad once again. Ichigo raised a brow at his father's deliberate ignorance for his question but went to the single bedroom nevertheless. Nothing in there stood out except for a cardboard box filled with yellow yarn and cotton wool. But this was the room of a master sewer after all. Kon dived under the bed – he said people normally place their traveling luggage there – while Ichigo rummaged around the closet.

His father had hinted that the sick boy was going to live with someone else but that someone else was not them. Uryū had never mentioned of any living relatives and he often gave off the idea that he did not want to put up in an orphanage and decided to stay alone. Where else could he possibly go to? The hospital?

"Some help here!" a muffled voice begged.

A pair of stout legs bobbed from under the bed; Kon was dragging a gym bag with great difficulty. Unfortunately, when he tugged harder at the holder, his paw got caught in the zip and the thread came off. He started bawling; he only shut up when Ichigo threatened to leave him like that and let him walk around with the bag for the rest of his life. Slightly flustered at the continuous streams of objections mostly concerning "soft toys' abuse", Ichigo walked over to the sewing kit for a pair of scissors. Upon opening the untarnished cover, a yellowish photograph depicting a kindly old man with a little boy no older than the age of five greeted his sight. They were both grinning heartily that he could hardly relate the little boy with his teenager version currently lying in the hall. He took it out and flipped it to its back. Written vividly in black ink were the words "To Uryū, my grandson." They sounded more like a dedication.

"Ichigo! Done packing yet?"

The boy tore his gaze from the picture. "Almost ready!"

Hastily, he placed it back in the kit and retrieved a pair of scissors from a pencil case. He squatted beside Kon and cut the toy free from the bag, receiving an "About time!" as a token of gratitude. By the time they both re-emerged in the hall, Isshin was already carrying Uryū in his arms.

"You really are going to take him away?" Ichigo asked as he dashed to the door, holding it ajar for his father. Isshin stepped sideways, cautious not to bang the bespectacled boy's head on the wooden frame. Kon was no longer nursing his fingers – he was listening raptly to the progress.

"Where are you taking him?"

"Somewhere safer. There'll be someone looking after him there."

"The hospital?"

"Close enough to be called one."

They walked down the staircase and stayed mute. Down the car park, Ichigo watched Isshin settle Uryū on the rear seats, instructed Kon to sit near him and eventually taking his cell phone out again to dial a certain configuration of numbers.

"Hello? This is Doctor Kurosaki. I'm taking Ur – wait, are you new? No, it's nothing. See, I'm taking Ishida Uryū to your place now. I've explained everything to the house owner – what do you mean you don't know any Ishida Uryū?"

Ichigo was already brimming with countless question marks. He was with his father all the time yet he felt so isolated that he was not a part of the up takings. However, he was not the only one either. Kon, who was leaning against Uryū's upper limb, looked just as perplexed as him. Isshin dialed another set of numbers and spoke woodenly to the mouth piece.

"Fine, your voicemail, huh? I know you might be doing your on-call, but could you explain to the maid about Uryū? I'm taking him there now."

He pushed the device back into his pocket.

"Who was that?"

Isshin started the car and maneuvered the vehicle on the boulevard. Checking Uryū's condition by his reflection on the rearview mirror, he glanced at his son before answering.

"The maid."

"_Whose _maid exactly is that?"

"The Ishida."

"Ishida… _Uryū_?"

"No. The Ishida. She serves at the Ishida's residence."

"I don't see anyone at the house."

"No. She works for Uryū's father."

"She _what_?"

The car slowed to a standstill at the red traffic light. Isshin looked swiftly at the occupant behind.

"And how did you come by the phone number?"

"Uryū's phone book," Isshin mumbled, his mouth twitching as he said so. Wanting to throw his son off this dangerous matter, he asked Kon, "How's he holding up?"

"Err… does not conscious mean he's doing fine?"

"Light's green. So, are we going to Ishida's father's house?"

Isshin sighed. "I guess so."

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DING DONG.

Isshin was at the mansion's main entrance, ringing the door bell; he had left the two boys and Kon in the car. When the door knob clicked, Isshin turned around and signaled Ichigo to bring Uryū in. Apparently disgusted at the idea of carrying another male, he exited the car and opened the back door. Kon was napping on the bespectacled boy.

"Get off him, Kon."

"Shut up! It's tiring to watch over him you know!"

"Ichigo!" his father yelled from the welcome mat, "Bring him in now!"

"Tsk, go away, Kon," Ichigo muttered as he bend over to retrieve the horizontal figure. "You really cause me a lot of trouble, Ishida."

He looked at the whitish façade, untroubled by the mocking he was just dealt with. If he was wide awake, they might probably be trading insults and snide remarks by now.

"Idiot."

Kon perched himself on Ichigo's shoulder as they walked past the wondrously manicured garden with shrubs of all colours fenced along its perimeter. He had no idea Uryū was rich. But Uryū had never showcased such extravagant life. His school bag was frayed and patched and he had an inkling that the boy might have sewn his own uniform. The interior of the abode was not as glamourious as the lawn suggested; the furnishing was simple and tidy that it made the area more spacious that it already was. The sheer curtain had little blue "t"s all over and it reminded him vaguely of the Quincy cross.

Uryū stirred though his eyes were still shut. Ichigo searched the hall for his father.

"Where's the old man when you need him?"

"We can just put him in a room," Kon interjected. "This house must have plenty of them…"

Ichigo cast his eyes for his father again. Unable to locate him in the vicinity, he ascended the waxed staircase with care. There was a short hallway on the storey which led to numerous doors. Kon, who had discovered one nailed with a "My Room" plaque, urged the orange haired boy to enter the chamber. He thought the room might already belong to another kid, but upon opening the door, he just _knew_ it was unoccupied. The space was spotless, but it lacked the certain vibe that inhabited areas usually emanate. It seemed hollow and neutral, not jive and bright like his. The calendar on the desk was out of date and the alarm clock was not functioning. Weirdly, the clock hung above a cluster of glow-in-the-dark planets on the wall was still ticking.

Ichigo lowered the boy on the bed and opened the window by the bookcase. When he was about to leave, something caught his attention.

_Two _things, in fact.

He approached the solitary book shelf. On the second highest rack, there stood two picture frames – or specifically, one was resting flat on its glass cover. The one still standing, however, was empty. The photograph had been removed. Ichigo straightened the other frame. This one's picture was still intact. A tall man sporting several strands of grey hair was clasping the shoulder of a very familiar toddler. The latter was chuckling; he was pointing a finger at the camera man. He scrutinized the adult's features. Somehow, he bore a remarkable resemblance to Uryū, or vice versa. One could only deduce that the two persons portrayed were none other than father and son. Ichigo put it back face down; if the bespectacled boy found out how nosy he had been in the Ishida's family business, he would be dodging spiritual arrows for a very long time.

"All right, Ichigo?"

He twisted his neck to the door.

"Oh," he picked the stuffed toy up, "Yes."

Isshin spared another look at Uryū before surveying the room. He raised a brow at the huddle of planets glued to the wall.

"Dad, are you sure it's all right to leave him here? And this room isn't occupied, is it?"

"It's fine. Ryūken lives here by himself."

"Who?"

"Ryūken. Uryū's father."

"Oh. I didn't know you like to call people by their given names."

Isshin cleared his throat.

"Well… err, haha, it isn't bad to get to know your son's friend's parent, right? He'll keep an eye on you for me! Haha!"

"Hn. I wonder if that's necessary. You figure out Kon _and _my activities all by yourself. Way to go, Dad."

Ichigo did not sound impressed at all, much to his Isshin's dismay.

"Well, I _am _your father after all. Come on. It's time to go."

The Kurosaki exited the room, closing the door behind them with a curt snap.

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Stacks of folders towered on the polished wooden table. A traveling jacket was slung on the back of a high executive chair. The curtains behind the desk were drawn to shield the room from sunset rays. A man whose snowy hair was capping his head had just switched his cell phone on. Five hours ago, he was in the operation theatre for an intricate surgery on a lady's patella. Three other surgeons were taking over his place; he had been completing his on-call since yesterday and up to now, he had spent thirty hours straight working in the hospital. His voice mail was full and so was his short messaging service's memory quota. But a number he had never seen for years sparked his curiosity. He listened to the message left by the caller. By the time he was done, a little colour was drained off his visage. He read the short note left in his cell phone.

Three minutes later, Ishida Ryūken was in his car on his way home.

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Uryū woke up to utter blackness. For a moment, he really believed he had gone blind. He ran a hand over his eyes and realized that his glasses were not there. But slowly, bit by bit his eyes adjusted to the dimness. That was when he noticed it was not so dark after all. The table lamp was on but its illumination was blocked by a solid figure standing in front of the book shelf. Feeling something damp on his forehead, he reached for it only to find a towel resting atop. The figure turned to him and took the towel from his grasp.

"You were having a mild fever. Your condition doesn't allow a prescription of aspirin though."

The boy sat up and looked around him, befuddled. Noticing Uryū's expression, he said, "The Kurosaki brought you here."

Languidly, he proceeded to closing the window by the book rack.

"I just want to see how you're holding up."

"I'm doing well, then."

Uryū shifted to the right as the older man assumed a seat on the bed; it weighed down somewhat under both their mass. The younger one gaped placidly at the carpet and remained exceptionally mum for the rest of the minutes. Ryūken sighed.

"You just won't come to the hospital, will you?"

"I can get better on my own. I'm not so ignorant about this case."

"Yes, you are."

Uryū stirred uncomfortably, his breathing quickened as he groped at the sheets; for a moment, Ryūken thought the boy was going to fall flat onto his bed. But he stayed seated though evidently whiter than before.

"You might want to keep a tab on your emotion and stress level _if _you want to get well fast."

"Huh, I wonder how to do exactly that?" Uryū scoffed sarcastically.

Even then, he took notice of his father's loosened necktie and crinkled shirt. His hair seemed grayer than usual and he was not wearing the regal air around him. Right now, he appeared to be yet another simple man who had this tiredness scratched onto his face. That was something more of a norm to all working adults he guessed. They went to work fresh and back home done in. He mused if a doctor's life was also of the same pattern.

"Are there many patients at the hospital?"

The bed creaked. Uryū forced his recently put on glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"You – you look as terrible as me."

Ryūken crossed his leg on a knee.

What a surprise.

Truthfully, he _was_ quite taken aback by his son's sudden randomness but having lost the memory of feeling likewise, he had forgotten how to react. Then there was the fact that he _did not _have to feel surprised. All this while, everything had fallen into his devices and strategies that there was no longer jubilance when they become realities. That was when all success was stripped of gratification because they were no longer an aspiration, but a necessity.

"_Father, guess what I got for English test?"_

_The kid brandished a brownish piece of paper from his bag. A monstrous "A+" with a little star was stamped at the corner of it. Without the faintest hint of rejoice at such achievement, Ryūken returned his attention to the documents spread out on his table once more. The boy, crestfallen, folded the paper neatly in half._

"_I…"_

"_What, Uryū?"_

_The little boy squinted at his scrawny knees. Timidly, he shook his head and went to his room. _

By being harsh, he could mould Uryū into a self-reliant man who need not rely on others for a living. People often rambled about cooperation and co-existence… what hogwash that was! When would _he, _the sage whom he called Father, learn that people only care for their skin – they do not give a damn about those they consider lower, even beneath them! Alliance and partnership… bull shit…

Uryū was not to tread behind Sōken. Uryū must learn that there was only he, Ishida Uryū who could be trusted, no other but himself. He must not be hurt. He was too naïve! So Ryūken would drill some sense into his son. There was no other way. Cruel, ruthless… but was not life as unforgiving as well?

Ryūken cleared his throat before getting up.

"Sleep. You'll need the rest."

With those, he left Uryū sitting in the dark.

The boy was far from sleepy, though.

Uryū got up to his feet and stood in the position his father initially was in when he awoke. Facing the shelf, he studied the content perpendicular to his eyes. Nothing interested him. There were a number of bedtime story books arranged in the rack, a broken carbon pencil, three faded bookmarks, two empty picture frames and a sea shell.

A blue diary lay abandoned on the desk.

Uryū reached out for it and flipped to its middle pages. He had written in this so many years ago that he had forgotten he had once adopted the habit of diary writing. He wondered whether his father had read this and intended to find more in his bookcase. All these were keeping him wide awake; who needed sleep when he had been doing that for hours before this? Decided that he did not really need the rest, Uryū sank on the chair, engrossed in the happy days this family once had, back when his mother was always cooking and experimenting with new dishes and had his father and him as guinea pigs.

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The next few days were normal, or at least, normal in the sense of living under the context of "pretend" family. Ryūken would come to his room early in the morning for a quick check before leaving for the hospital. Sometimes, when he was already awake, he would sit up and let his father jab his body with the stethoscope. Sometimes, when he was too tired to peel his eyes, he would just lie and let the man carry on with whatever a doctor always does. And there were also times when he was barely aware of Ryūken entering the room.

The cleaner who doubled as the maid, came only once a week. So Uryū was alone most of the time in the big house, minding his own business. His father had told him on his second day here that he had applied medical leave for the boy. When he asked how long the period of his sick leave was, he received a cold "As long as necessary" for an answer. Orihime had called the house once – she got the number from the Kurosaki – and they talked for about five minutes when he heard engine revving in the porch. His father generally returned at eight or nine and usually he would cook up something simple for two. Uryū would then clean the dishes and went up to his room. So far, they had not really sit down and talk like fathers and sons do, but merely exchanged superficial questions like "How's your work?" and "Did you take your medicine?" at the dining table. Even then, they only spoke when the silence was getting unbearable.

On his third morning, he decided to do a bit of exploring. It had been years since he had been here and he wondered how much the place had changed. The room on the ground floor was the first one he went in. At first, he thought his father would have locked the door. But the knob twisted smoothly when he rotated it and he entered the space where his late grandfather was meant to live in; Ryūken had considered inviting Sōken to stay with them but after receiving intelligence of Uryū's tutelage with the back then still active Quincy, he had never brought up the matter since. The bespectacled boy lay on the bed. Like his room, this confinement was also well managed. The only deco it had was a framed photograph of three grown ups and a baby nestling near his mother's bosoms. All of them were smiling, especially the man with a walking cane. The other man was elated, too. Uryū mused dismally whether the man realized he was having an abomination for the only heir to the clan's name. He would then curl up on the mattress, relishing fond memories of his dear grandfather and the many wise words Sōken had parted for little Uryū during their forbidden training sessions.

The four days after were not easy. His stomach would act in the craziest ways imaginable after he took his meal. He nearly threw up after one brief lunch and actually did during dinner with Ryūken. The latter ironed his back soothingly while he emptied everything into the toilet bowl and flushed the coffee-ground sick down the drainage system after the boy was done. And that was also the night he overheard Ryūken assigning another doctor in his place for on-call over the phone. He just thought it was a privilege in becoming the hospital's director.

Thus, one week had passed at Ishida's residence.

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"Uryū."

Someone was tapping lightly on his cheek.

"Uryū!"

There was a note of urgency in the voice.

Uryū opened his eyes, squinting in the brightness. A blurry face hovered before him and when his lens focused on it, he made out a pair of rimless spectacles, a knitted forehead and hoary hair. The boy clutched the side of his temple as he brought himself up to a sitting position.

_What had just happened…_

He remembered walking to the kitchen for a glass of water. The grandfather clock in the hall told him it was almost six in the evening at that time. Nothing peculiar had happened. He was walking at his own pace, thinking of nothing in particular… it must be then. His vision went off and he recalled groping around for support and then, here he was, on the floor with his father kneeling by his side. The man enquired nothing of this, so he did not say anything.

All for the better…

It took him quite a while to rid the patches obscuring his sight. Then Ryūken held him by the elbow and steered him right into –

"Grandfather's room?"

"I don't want you to walk up the stairs and break your neck when you fall."

The elder man disappeared into the laundry room after chaperoning his son to where he would be spending the night. Uryū heard quickened slaps of rubber slippers on the tiles, the creak of a door, more slaps of slippers…

Ryūken came in again with a one-liter bottle of mineral water, a comforter and a pair of navy pajamas. He placed all of them at the foot of the bed as he switched the air conditioner on.

"Sleep here for the night."

He eyed his son again.

The boy stared at his feet.

"I'll be in the study room."

The door closed.

One second the man was here, and gone by the next.

Uryū exhaled wearily and got up to change. The attire must have belonged to his father; the sleeves were somewhat longer than his arms and the trouser was loose at the waistband. He folded the excess length and clambered onto the bed. With treacherous pants, it was not very convenient for him to move around vigorously, even if his physical body allowed him to.

Something was out of order.

Uryū scanned the four walls again. He knew something was not in the way it had been during his previous visit here.

He edged towards the framed photo hanging on the wall. It was dangling at an angle. It did not differ much from before but his eyes were quick to discern it. So either the area had been hit by a quake, which he highly doubted since he was here all along, or someone had removed it from the original spot.

His fingers crept to the frame.

Curiosity kills the cat, they say. What if Ryūken noticed someone had been meddling with it? Bear in mind, he still had a long time to spend with his father under this roof.

But satisfaction brings it back.

Resolutely, Uryū grasped it by the wooden rim and brought it down. A hidden compartment came to view. He leaned the picture against the wall while he peered closer at what turned out to be a safe box. It was locked, obviously. But locked or not, he was itching to know the secrets it concealed. Since he had nothing better to do, he thought maybe he would try haggling with luck. So he turned the knob clockwise, then counter-clockwise, agreeing to his father's birth date.

_Let it be someone's birthday…_

He pushed the sealed cover. It was still latched. Uryū racked his brain until he came to his mother's. When her birthday offered no success, he tried her death date, but also to no avail. His enthusiasm draining, he turned the dial according to his grandfather's birth date and death date. Both failed. Uryū scratched his scalp. If all three persons' crucial dates were not the safety lock's combination number, he did not know what else Ryūken would possibly use. Maybe the day he was named Karakura Hospital's director, or the day he got his doctorate… or perhaps the day he got his first pay…

_Uryū, Ryūken's decisions are understandable. He has a family to support after all. But one day, Uryū, one day, you'll understand, too._

He gulped. His trembling hand reached for the knob once more. This time, he turned it with _his _birthday as the password.

0 – 6 – 1 – 1…

He turned it to the last digit of his year of birth.

CLICK.

He blinked.

_Probably more money…_

There were documents in the compartment; all of them were enveloped neatly without addresses or names. He examined a large brown one. Inside were some of the black-and-whites of stock investment and an account book specially set up for someone's education fund. All of these, however, were registered under his father and mother's names.

_In a way, I was right, right? More money…_

He inserted the papers back and took an extremely battered envelope. This one had Ryūken's name written on.

_Dear Ryūken,_

_I still have twenty thousand lot of the share we bought before our engagement. Please contact the broker to transfer them to our son when he turns twenty one. _

_I'm so sorry I don't have the luck to accompany you till the end of days, to grow old together, and watch Uryū graduates, marries a fine lady and has a child of his own. I hope we can be together again the next karma._

_I love you._

Uryū flushed somewhat. He was not supposed to be reading that after all.

He folded it neatly into two and closed the envelope. He retrieved an A4 size paper holder instead and looked into its content.

He blinked. This had definitely never crossed his mind.

Ryūken had bought a life insurance for himself amounting to twelve million in America's currency should he die in any ways except naturally and suicide. A will was attached to it. He could not have written it recently; both Sōken and his mother stood witness to the making of this. The name of the beneficiary to the sum of money was printed at the bottom of the page – Uryū's thumb was covering the words. He removed it, knowing full well that his father had always wanted to raise a trust on behalf of Karakura Hospital.

Heir: Ishida Uryū.


	5. Burning Core

He heard a faint clank of iron wrought gate open and close to admit a vehicle into the porch. Then, a couple of light steps on the floor which belonged to this abode's owner would follow – Uryū would never be able to hear them with three walls in between. He turned off the switch and the electrical kettle stopped whistling. Just as the door knob clicked, he poured the boiling water into a coffee brewer and set it on its pad.

"Uryū."

Ryūken had just spotted the bespectacled boy by the kitchen's arch. The latter nodded and sat on the nearest armchair.

"I'm just getting a drink."

Ryūken cocked an eyebrow. Then, without a warning, he dashed through the arch and caught sight of the still steaming coffee pot.

"Uryū!"

He spun around just in time to see his son raising his cup to his lips.

"Don't drink that!"

He seized the boy by his wrist so abruptly that the beverage splashed onto both their hands. Intuitively, the older man braced himself for the scalding of hot coffee on his skin.

It never came.

Uryū took out several pieces of tissue from his breast pocket and dab it lightly on the back of his father's palm.

"I know I can't take caffeine drinks. It's only plain water."

He chucked the used tissue into a waste basket with perfect precision. Without another word, he rose from his place.

"The water isn't ice cold, so don't worry."

"Then for whom the coffee is made for?"

Silence dawned.

Ryūken wished he had never asked that. The younger one turned his back onto his father before muttering, "I'll be in my room."

"No, this evening –"

He was interrupted by a dull ringing of his cell phone. The older man answered it in an equally monotonous tone. Since he spoke in such a small volume, Uryū could only discern fractions of words like "starting tomorrow night" and "two shifts". He thought eavesdropping was rude but he could not help noticing the rippling feelings he had for this man… he was so sure he had ridden himself of them. Something just swayed his undefined loathe for his father when the latter agreed to cover up twenty four hours flat of working schedule, even though he had done his on-call yesterday.

This man laboured like a machine.

"All right, tomorrow it is. Thanks."

He shoved the device into his pocket.

"Uryū."

The boy faced his father. Somehow he could not find the courage, or in this case, the right to look at him in the eyes. Instead, his focus lingered somewhere on his father's immaculate necktie. But it did not matter much; Ryūken was picking up his forgotten briefcase on the floor.

"I don't want you to lock yourself up in the room." Ryūken removed his tie and rested his coat on the seat by his bag. "It's not healthy. So," he folded his garments and stacked the pile on the corner table, "we're going for a walk."

The boy looked up instantly, eyebrows hidden behind his coal bangs. "What?"

Ryūken rolled up his sleeves as he eyed the boy.

"With you?" the youngster asked somewhat incredulously.

"Just in case."

"But – but don't you want to rest after work?"

"If by rest you mean sleep, then no. Leisure isn't defined solely as sleep."

He gave a searching look at his son.

"Can you walk? How is the pain the whole day?"

"I can manage."

Ryūken edged to the door with Uryū at his tail. Both were silent since both were _very _astounded that they had just agreed to spend the evening in each other's company.

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It was only about 5.00 p.m. so the sun was already setting and kids came out to play. It was not that parents purposely gave their consent to the children to have outdoor activities in the dark, but rather without the ludicrous heat of the sun. Even if the sun was slipping under the horizon, the park was still properly illuminated by street lamps.

But certainly, it was not that dark or Ryūken would not have brought Uryū here.

They strolled down the brick way, amusing themselves – though this was not shown visibly – with toddlers zooming down the slides or playing on the see-saw. The entire area was painted with their innocence and outright joy that the Ishida felt the hyperactive energy rubbing onto them.

"Oof!"

A child who was playing tag with another little girl had just run headlong into Uryū. All air was knocked out of his lungs and the bespectacled boy stumbled somewhat. Ryūken held his son by his upper arm but the teenager had his attention on the child.

"Are you okay?"

The young boy nodded, though he still looked mildly winded. Uryū clapped the child's back reassuringly and shifted aside to allow him some space for movement; immediately, he took off and scampered after the girl who was now mocking him for his clumsiness. Ryūken steered his son from the middle of the path. Unlike the kid, Uryū had yet to recover from the incident. They both searched for an untaken bench – Ryūken did the navigation – and fortunately, they found one located in the vicinity. As soon as they sat, Uryū buried his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes. Once again, like what had occurred so often in the past few days, giddiness sprouted and he could hardly keep both feet on the ground.

"How many times?" Ryūken asked.

"Come again?" Uryū whispered, pushing his heavy head up at a small angle.

"How many times have you experienced dizziness? This cannot be the first based on your condition."

Ryūken knew. So it was pointless to conceal anything. But nothing was worth concealing, he came to think.

"Not a few times."

What a lame reply. Weaknesses were meant to be hidden beneath every matter – no, _any _matter – conceived by chance or human's vanity, including lies and pretence. Weakness was very much the equal analogy of an embarrassing wart besmirching one's body. This unsightly mark was covered with fabric and never mentioned to other parties. And only two seconds ago, Uryū had breached the pride he had buffed all these while by openly declaring his fragileness.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of in being sick. Your symptoms are common. And maybe you should know that your mentality determines the rate of your recovery. Thinking yourself as weak isn't going to help much."

"You…"

"I was in your place once… a long time ago, back when I was in kindergarten."

Uryū lowered his hand and sat upright like the man next to him. Ryūken subconsciously became spectator of three children building sandcastles in the sandbox compound as he recollected memories he did not know he still had.

"_You need more rest. Leave the laundry here and get inside before your cold worsen."_

"_I'm fine, Father. I'm used to doing this chore. That's why I –" _

_The youngster broke off and hacked uncontrollably. Another taller figure cloaked the smaller frame with a hand knitted sweater before picking the boy up in his arms._

"_Put me down… I can walk…"_

"I asked you grandfather to let me go so I could continue my task collecting the clothes. I never knew what he said since soon after, I just lost consciousness. It was no normal flu anyway, and your grandfather caught the virus one day after I recovered."

Two very young children will rolls of nylon thread ran in front of their bench. A couple of kites hovered high in the windy sky.

For as long as he had known his father, he had never once listened to him telling stories about the family. A very vague smile flashed across the man's lips as he talk and it was then the child had stopped listening. In his memory, his father had never smiled in his wake – never. And for a fleeting moment, he thought he had merely imagined the gesture. So he stared at the corner of his father's lips, just to make sure.

"And when you were a baby, we were always afraid that you might fall ill. It was inevitable, of course. The first time you burn with fever, your mother – she –"

A toddler slipped and fall face flat onto the dirt. He started wailing.

Ryūken broke off, looking forlornly at the kid's parents brushing sand from their offspring's knees. Uryū could only cast his eyes on his shoes. For a painful second, he suddenly remembered that he had never been taken to the park to play by his father.

"Come on. It's getting chilly here."

Ryūken closed a warm hand about his son's upper arm and both got to their feet. Uryū stood still momentarily and when he found his view had stopped revolving, he started walking.

It seemed that the journey home would not be as awkward as the earlier one.

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Two figures bustled around the spacious kitchen amidst wafts of simmering mackerel and steaming white rice. One of them whose hair had whitened was stirring a small pot brimming with soup – wedges of potatoes, carrots and big onions floated before sinking again to the utensil's bottom. The other one was standing before a chopping board. Actually, he was not allowed here. His father had instructed him to lie in bed and wait for dinner but since the boy was very adamant in preparing his own meal, the elder man gave in. So there they were, working mutedly and minding their food.

DING DONG.

"I'll get it."

Uryū wiped his hand on the cloth and proceeded to answer the door. Ryūken hanged his apron and washed his hands under the filtered tap water. His son might have to open the door to see who was – or in this case, were – at their doorsteps, but Ryūken had already sensed their familiar reiatsu approximately three minutes ago.

"You!"

Uryū seemed startled at the two guests ringing the Ishida's residence door bell. _Not surprising…_

"Yo, Ishida! My father and I just happened to be in the neighbourhood so we thought of paying you a visit."

"Oh."

"Who is that, Uryū?" Ryūken asked, feigning ignorance.

The bespectacled boy stepped a pace back and the visitors entered the hall. Ryūken folded his arms as he leaned against the arch, his cold eyes examining the pair with indifference.

"The Kurosaki."

Isshin nodded courteously at the standing figure and received a raised eyebrow in return.

"We won't be long here," Ichigo said, "Yuzu is cooking and Karin has flu."

Uryū, on the other hand, was conscious of the pregnant silence in the hall as much as Ichigo was oblivious to it. He dropped his voice and the orange haired teen was forced to lower his ear to his friend's mouth.

"Let's go outside. We can talk there."

"Oh," Ichigo was taken aback at this suggestion, but he had no reasons to decline it. "All right."

The youngsters exited the house, leaving their fathers in the strained atmosphere.

"Why are you here, Isshin?" came the rigid question as soon as the younger pairs disappeared from the vicinity.

"Let me get to the point then. Don't want to interrupt your dinner with your son now, do we?"

Ryūken sniffed at the last remark.

"Your son didn't tell you, did he?"

"Tell me?"

The white haired man took a seat opposite of the other one. His piercing eyes bore into Isshin's, demanding to know what Uryū had not informed him. Isshin leaned forward and clasped both hands as he divulged what he thought his old friend should know.

"The day I sent Ichigo to post you Uryū's health record, two Hollows invaded Karakura. Fortunately, they were of lower levels, so they don't pose much threat to the children."

"But at Uryū's weakened state, he is much more vulnerable than the others since drawing a spiritual arrow will be too taxing, is that so, Isshin?"

The unshaved man blinked.

"That's why I'm keeping him here."

A short, mirthless chuckle rang in the space. "Ryūken, you wouldn't have kept him here in the first place if we did not bring him to your house. Is your face and pride that important that you will only accept your son if he comes crawling back to you?"

"It was never meant to be that way."

Ryūken crossed his legs and leaned against the sofa. Isshin narrowed his eyes and study his friend's features more intently.

"You've been skiving sleep, haven't you? How long has this been going?"

Staying stanch to an Ishida's personality, Isshin was greeted with nothingness.

"Figures. I know you'll not answer that. But you're a doctor and Uryū's father. Certainly you should know that the hospital is still the best place for him to be."

"I do."

"Ah, but he won't go. Just like his father huh? I'm surprised that you two have gotten used to each other so fast. I thought you will need some time for adjustment."

Ryūken got to his feet. Isshin followed suit.

"You've been waiting for him to come back someday, am I right?"

The snowy haired man held the teak door open for his guest. Upon departure, Isshin winked at the stony faced doctor.

"One cannot deny you've got a weird way of parenting, Ryūken."

"Good bye, Isshin."

"Well, good bye. Take care of yourself too. Ichigo!"

"Os!"

It sounded far away.

"It's time to make a move!"

Ichigo turned to the bespectacled boy. He smiled in that quirky way of his and turned to his father. "See you in school, Ishida!"

"No wait, Kurosaki!"

"Huh?"

Uryū approached the orange haired boy. This opportunity was too good not to be cherished. Isshin was coming. He had to act fast.

"Do you know if both our fathers are acquainted?"

"Ah?"

Uryū glanced over his taller friend's shoulder. Frantic for answer, he looked at Ichigo again. "Well, do they know each other?"

"I… I don't know. I've never seen your father before at my place and Dad had never spoken of him. _You _never told us that your father is still around."

"Hello kids."

_Damn._

Isshin grinned well mannerly at the boys. "Sorry to bother you but we have to hit the road, Ichigo. See you, Uryū."

"Good bye, Mr. Kurosaki."

_The idiotic Kurosaki…_

Frustrated at not having his question answered, Uryū traced his way back into the house.

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"Dad, are you friends with Ishida's father?"

"Huh?"

Isshin nearly tripped on his unbuckled shoelaces. Ichigo waited for his father to knot the shoelaces safely.

"Why do you ask?"

Ichigo shrugged and shoved both fists into his pockets. Isshin perceived this as a very mechanical enquiry, one that was not driven by inquisitiveness. And sure enough, when he carefully directed his son's interest to the ridiculous subjects of "girls" and "puppy love", the question was never raised again.

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After dinner which consisted of a regular serving of fruit salad and a bowl of vegetable soup, Uryū went upstairs to his bedroom. He had no reasons to be in the hall with his father, not that he wanted to, so he chose to spend the young night alone. Ryūken had confined himself in his study chamber again. Every night, despite having two people occupying the abode, the ambience often felt as if it was vacant. But nobody found it queer. It was just that the Ishida had always been like this, generation after generation.

He was a stranger in his own house.

Uryū traipsed up the stairs and walked along the darkened hallway. He did not need to switch on the lights really, since his father would most probably be sleeping downstairs in the spare room like he did ever since his house accepted another resident. The bespectacled boy passed the master room. A very long time ago, at this time of the day, he would always catch words and whispers of deep conversation from within. Until now, he still had no idea what his father and mother chatted about… but no matter; his interest for his kin had already decayed.

He entered his room. It had always been his room until he left. And it had not changed much. Ryūken must have asked the maid to tidy this place up. If memory served him right, this place was speck-less when he was first brought in. It did not seem right for a room abandoned for years to be spick and span, did it? And this was _his _room. Weird, was it not?

His father whose heart and mind were brimming with money and nothing but money had no more space for kindness and love.

Uryū lowered his body on the bed. When his head fell on the pillow, it thudded dully. The boy could not be bothered. He was tired, not to mention sleepy…

_A raven-haired boy pelted to a semi detached mansion like there was no tomorrow. Sweat ran down the sides of his rosy cheeks as he tore along the pavement. Something amazing had happened, something he thought he was never capable of. And he wanted his father to know of it._

_He ran and ran until he was inside the house. A car was parked under the porch so his father must be in here somewhere._

"_Father!"_

_His voice rang through the open space._

"_Father?"_

_Oh goodness. There was only one place the man would be at this time…_

_The boy spun around abruptly and jogged to the study chamber. He could hardly restrain himself from belching the excitement. His father would know all about it, he would make sure of it._

"_Father!"_

_He wheeled into the room. Ryūken who was hanging his traveling cloak on the stand spared a swift glance at his son._

"_What is it?" _

_The boy grinned very widely and began talking profusely._

"_Grandfather is awesome! He just summoned a bow in his hands and he fired three arrows and they all hit a rock, a tree branch and the waterfall! I asked him how he did it and he said one day I'll be able to. So he asked me to focus and concentrate on the shape of a bow and it happened! I had summoned my own bow! And Grandfather said he'll teach me archery!"_

_He looked up hopefully at his father._

_The man re-located a pile of books on the floor to his table. Flipping through the pages, he spoke softly yet clearly, "No."_

_No._

"_But – but why?"_

_The man drew a fountain pen from its holder._

"_Father, why can't – can't Grandfather –"_

"_No means no Uryū. And it's final."_

_The child was devastated. But he knew that pleading and begging no longer work under this roof. It broke him. _

_It really did._

Uryū awoke so abruptly that his eyes had not the time to adjust with the blackness capping him.

_I… what the…_

"Ugh!"

He rolled to his side. The sensation had not really sunk in yet. He blinked in utter confusion.

_What?_

Then, it began.

Rusty hooks clinched brutally at the inflamed stomach. Or it felt almost as close to that. Uryū's dilated pupils reflected fear for what he knew was coming.

And it came.

They tugged at his innards, tearing his flesh as they mutilate it so inhumanely that he thought he would perish in this pain beyond human's comprehension. Even the analogy of hooks puncturing the walls of his organ was an understatement. Uryū thrashed on the bed, his clammy face drenched in perspiration. As the staking agony mount up, a sharp cry was elicited from his cracked lips.

_Oh no… no, keep quiet…_

"Unh…"

He dug his fingers into the mattress… his eyes watered…

_Stop… stop…_

"Uryū!"

A pale figure emerged at the door frame - his solid outline blocked the dim light of the corridor and it cast shadows into the room. The bed creaked and his keen eyes discerned a twisting bulk on it. Hurriedly, he dashed to the lying boy and made to grip him.

"No! Don't – don't touch me!"

Ryūken, already blank in the head, was further appalled by the boy's sudden hostility. He knelt there, immobile as he witnessed the strained visage and desperate attempts for air. As a doctor, he was immune to his patients screaming excruciatingly when the nurses change their dressings or when the painkillers' effect wear off. But to hear them from his son…

Uryū lay still on the mattress, heaving behind half closed lids. Ryūken assumed the pain had finally subsided. Without a doubt, it must have left the boy weary and numb all over. Lifting himself up from his knees, the older man arranged his son's tangled form in a more comfortable position and pulled the comforter up to his chin.

_It won't be long now… see what you've done to yourself, Uryū…_

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_Up… up… wake up, boy…_

"What?"

_Up… up… wake up, boy…_

"Who's there?"

_Up… up…_

Uryū wrenched his eye lids open. He raised himself roughly and threw his glances all over the place. He was certain that he was alone, but he was also positive that he did not just imagine those annoying hoots in his ears. Was he dreaming?

The clock attached to the wall above several pieces of glow-in-the-dark planets told him that it was only four in the morning. He could not remember sleeping for that matter.

_Out. Get out._

That was it. He was leaving.

Who was he kidding? Had he really believed that Ryūken had reformed? His nagging conscious constantly reminded him of how that man had isolated his own kin. He put his son at the back. He put his father at the back. These alone were enough reasons to not forgive.

Hastily, he yanked the comforter from his body and ran a hand blindly on the bedside table for his spectacles. His thumb made contact with the lens and quickly, he retrieved it. But –

_Oh, crap._

His actions had pushed an unsuspecting glass over the surface. Deftly, with the reflex of a Quincy, he stretched and reached for the falling object.

His midriff stung and burnt somewhat at his vigorous movement.

The boy hissed as he tensed for a second. But he had no time to waste. If it had to be painful, so be it.

Uryū hooked the glasses behind his ears and placed the glass on the floor. Silently like a feline, he tiptoed towards the door and headed out for the main entrance. As he glided down the staircase, he prayed that the steps would not squeak… his father had an unusual sense of hearing. One twist of the door knob and he would appear out of no where, ready to question you of your "little midnight trip". Uryū had learnt it the hard way when a child.

Thankfully, everything went his way all right. The coast was clear and he could be out of this place in just a couple more strides. He descended the last few bottommost steps… the door was so close he could smell the recently polished brass handle…

"Stay where you are."

The lamps switched on and brightness penetrated his eyes. Uryū squinted at this and shuffled for the knob.

"No."

A hand seized his fumbling one gruffly and held it in mid air. Uryū stared contemptuously at the man before him, who in return had already fixed his dreary gaze upon the boy. He relinquished his grasp on Uryū when both had finally calmed down and reached the point where they were capable of conversing rationally.

"Why are you doing this?"

The boy rubbed his wrist but said nothing. A vein throbbed in Ryūken's temple but he did not care. He could feel his blood on the verge of boiling but yet, he suppressed his anger and pressed on in restraint coolness.

"I don't know what made you change so suddenly and I don't want to ask. You are not going to step out of this house for as long as you're ill, Uryū!"

"You cannot keep me here forever."

"I don't want to either. But for now, you stay in this house until you're well enough to leave."

"I'm leaving."

"I said, no."

Ryūken slammed his fist on the door as Uryū pulled it open. It shut with a heavy bang which echoed loudly in the hall.

"Look at yourself!" the older man spat, his eyes flaming.

_How can he be so blunt?_

"You're always pale and you go dizzy all the time! Don't you know what that means? Didn't you see your vomit two days ago? You're already throwing up digested blood, Uryū! It's only a matter of time when Hollows finally detect you and then what? Your condition doesn't allow you to combat. Are you going to rely on Kurosaki Ichigo?"

_Why must we quarrel again?_

"_You're not leaving!"_

"_Yes I am! I've had enough of your ridiculous philosophy!"_

Ryūken stared pointedly at his son again. The latter seemed somewhat amused but his instincts warned him that boy had already resolved his mind.

Uryū glared one last time at his father before he turned to the door once more. He pulled it harder than before and it creaked open.

"Since when do you care?"

_Idiot._

Ryūken focused spirit particles beneath the sole of his feet and charged like the shadow behind his son. He saw the boy's eyes widened in astonishment.

"You leave me no choice, Uryū," he whispered into his son's ear. Agilely, he brought an arm down to the boy's neck and rapped him hardly at a specific spot above his spinal cord. The child collapsed but before he could hit the floor, he was caught immediately by his father. Settling the mass on the ground, Ryūken fished out his cell phone and dialed a number. When the "tut… tut…" was lifted, he spoke to the operator.

"This is Doctor Ishida. Connect me to the gastrointestinal department."


	6. Your Dread and Mine

"_We've got the entire apparatus ready…"_

"_But as for the location…"_

"_You can do it here… spacious…"_

"_Yes, I do think so either…"_

_What…_

He swallowed. He tried to lift a finger but it felt stiff. The whisperings and soft discussions halted and for a second, he sensed all eyes – no matter how many there were – were beamed on his form. Then a shadow fell onto him. It was then he found the littlest whim to break his eyes free only to wake up into Ryūken's face. Two other outlines formed the background but without his vision aid, he had no idea who the strangers were. They started talking again. For some reasons, he thought the subject of their yakking was him.

"You're in the hospital, Uryū," the white haired man explained.

The boy knew that. His nose was prickling with the discomforting odour of bleach and antibacterial reagent. He eyed the couple of men at the end of his bed who had already taken a step forward to stand behind Ryūken. He strained his eyes to look at their tags dangling from their necks but all these only gave him a minor migraine. His brain buzzed and his body felt like lead. His father, however, was turning his back towards him as he proceeded instructing the others concerning something. He did not know. His ears were not exactly alert either.

After half a minute or so, he heard something fuzzy like "Excuse us, Ishida-sempai" and a click on the door knob. Someone was still lingering though; he heard the smart taps of PVC heels on the immaculate tiles. True enough, Ryūken crossed his arms and started orientating the teen.

"Minutes before you came around, the doctors from before had injected you with anesthesia. While waiting for the optimum effect, I told them to carry on with the preparation. The patient has almost no roles in this…"

He scrutinized his son.

"I'm having you undergoing a biopsy this afternoon. It's a procedure that is used to obtain a very small piece of the target tissue. At the same time, they'll use an endoscope to have a look at the lining of your stomach. Normally, we wouldn't allow patients to eat eight hours prior to the process. But it should be fine since you haven't really eaten anything last night."

_Last night?_

His dense mood rippled. "You!"

Ryūken merely looked on at the boy's sudden change of facial expression. He seemed to be waiting for this eruption all along.

"You! Just what right do you have to knock me off and haul me here without my consent?"

"Amusing."

That took him by surprise. He glared at the man who was straightening out the crease on his sleeves as if he had done nothing more tedious than buying the daily papers from the district vendor. He paused momentarily before sinking both fists into his pockets.

"This is for your own benefits. Don't complain like the ingrate you use to be. If you are this active after sedation, someone might just give you another dose of those."

Uryū averted his eyes somewhere else. Sometimes, especially in this kind of situation, silence is always the best. Maybe it was out of respect for the man?

That was laughable indeed.

"Those doctors will perform biopsy on me?"

"Hn."

Silence was met with silence.

Then the door swung open again. A machine was wheeled in along with the previous doctors and three nurses. One of the latter shut the door before drawing the long curtains circling the bed and shifted the end table to a vacant corner. The device anchored on his left side and a nurse plugged it to the socket. All of them were working efficiently as though they were meant to do this all along from the day they were born. The doctors fiddled with the monitors while the nurses fumbled with him. He had no idea what he was booked into… although he _thought _he had a glimpse of the word before… _biopsy…_

"Uryū-kun, now I'm sure Ishida-san had told you the procedures. There's nothing to worry about, we're all professionals here."

How kind of the lady to utter words of comfort like that. But she must have mistaken him for a five-year-old child. One, he was _not_ _worry _of the whole biopsy process. Two, he was not doubting their professionalism, although this was his first experience of such course of action. But he had been through a lot of new things within this half a year.

This would not come as a shock. Besides, his part was to lie still and let the doctors carry on with what they should do. Even the idiotic Kurosaki could pass this with flying colours.

"All right, now I have to remove your pillow. Want your oesophagus to be as straight as possible, see. Oh no, don't try to get up, we've drugged you – err… I mean…"

"It's fine."

Uryū hoisted his head up and lifted the pillow from his skull. The nervous nurse retrieved it with a faint smile.

This was exactly why he dreaded this hospital.

He dropped his voice. "Miss, you don't have to be this fearful you know. I'm like ten years younger than you. I'm thankful of your warm treatment and all, and I don't want to be treated out of the norm. Please see me as every other patient."

She smiled brightly.

"Well… err… you're a nice person, Uryū-kun. I'm sure Ishida-san had brought you up well –"

"Hardly."

"All set. Give us a minute… we're attaching the forceps to the endoscope. How's the kid doing?"

"Very good."

The nurse shoved the pillow below his bed; cupping his jaw line and cranium, she tilted his head upwards until it was perpendicular to the mattress. He hoped this would last for a short while – it was not in any way comfortable keeping still in this position.

"We'll shift you back to a more comfy posture once the endoscope is in. Now, open your mouth for the endoscope."

He parted his lips a fraction.

"Good thing the tube isn't gigantic, is it?"

She disappeared from his view and was replaced with a man holding a thin, slender cylinder between his index and thumb. Mumbling something quite clearly about maintaining constant breaths, he eased the tool into the teen's oral cavity. Uryū was not even sure whether the endoscope had passed through his uvula when the friendly nurse quipped soothingly from his other side.

"This will take a while… go to sleep if you can… your father is just waiting outside the curtain…"

He did not know Ryūken was still in the room.

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"The plucking of the stomach epithelium went well. Hopefully, it doesn't bleed. But if it does within these three days, refer him to me, all right, Ryūken?"

The man in question nodded and downed half of his coffee. The other doctor raked his hair and leaned casually against the sofa.

"His blood test has come out though. And you're right. He's having anemia."

"Hn."

Ryūken settled his cup on the table, gazing at the swirls breaching the smooth surface of the steaming beverage. The doctor said no more. Ryūken personally was well informed of his son's case.

Crudely put, his fears had solidified.

When he saw Uryū throw up tarry substance, he had already suspected of ulcer. Did the child even realize of this? He would not blame him for not though, since this sometimes occurred out of the blue without any specific symptoms or tell-tale signs. So he brought him back to have him under _his _surveillance. He watched his diet and everyday lifestyle. If possible, he would want to limit his internal tension but this was up to the boy anyway. Then his condition deteriorated. All these giddy fits and fatigue visited frequently that another suspicion sparked up in him; his ulcer had ruptured and was still bleeding that consequently, he became anemic. No matter, neither gastritis nor ulcer gastritis can rob patients of their lives.

The thing was, patients would rather have it that way.

"Why propose a biopsy now, Ryūken?"

There was a brief pause. He was not sure how to put it into words.

"Oh, you don't say!"

The doctor scratched his ear, his narrow eyes intent upon the hospital director. This was one of the things which only doctors could fathom. So needless to say, Ryūken merely inclined his head to affirm the seemingly hollow sentence. He understood what the doctor meant. Vice versa, too. That was all they needed.

"So, what do you want to do after he wakes up?"

"I'll bring him home."

They both got up to their feet and adjourned at the door. Ryūken remained in the border of the room while the other strode lightly to the corridor.

"The report will come out in two days. D'you want to apply for a leave? If you do, I'll deliver the report to your home A.S.A.P –"

"Thanks, but I'll come to work. I'll just drop by the pathology department to get it."

"Oh, sure. Good bye, Ryūken."

He walked off and was soon joined by another matron holding a clipboard. Ryūken closed the door, separating the bustling scenario from the office – _his _office. He had a mobile bed set up in the confinement of the curtains which usually block the view of a reclining mattress. The mattress could not be used though – it could not recline a hundred and eighty degree flat. Hence, the instruction to bring in a ward bed was issued.

He took a seat in the lounging area – it was directly opposite of the bed. Two hours had already passed. _Anytime now…_

He sensed a mild peak of reiatsu.

The still form brought a hand to the hem of the blanket. Wrenching it away, he slowly sat up on the bed, his eyes scanning the surrounding until they settled unwaveringly on the sitting man.

"You haven't gone back."

Those were Uryū's first sign of recognition for his father. Ryūken cleared his throat.

"You have to rest for a couple of hours after the sedatives wear off. Then," he approached the boy, "I'll take you back."

"Home?"

"Yes."

Uryū put on his glasses – they were resting on the table – and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Ryūken allowed his son generous amount of time to get used to movements after hours of temporary paralysis and gestured to the door once Uryū slipped into his shoes.

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The boy noticed how well recognized his father was within the hospital community. Several people greeted him on the way, many attached the honorific "sama" or "sempai" while the more senior looking ones either nodded curtly or exchanged cordial greetings like "G'day Ryūken" or "Hello".

But Ryūken was their superior after all.

The male colleagues were of less hassle if compared to the female. Nurses and lady doctors alike look at him with a gentle smile even though their furrows spelt questions such as "Who's the boy?". The keener ones grinned graciously and addressed him as "Ishida-kun". He was stranger to this whole new atmosphere. In school, he was the leper, an outcast who preferred to stay well out of the limelight. This was almost impossible to achieve when he was walking side by side with the director of Karakura Hospital.

By the time they reached the car, their faces were oceans apart; Ryūken was as indifferent as usual while Uryū was plainly relieved to be nowhere near a crowd. With the signal of the car's beep, they both stepped to either sides of the sedan. Ryūken made to open the entrance.

And he stopped.

"What's the matter now?" he asked icily from across the roof; the boy had not touched the metal handle despite reaching the door first. Uryū glanced at his father before bowing his head somewhat. He was uncertain if he dared to ask for this favour.

"I… can we not go home first?"

Ryūken's white brows vanished behind his fringes. Uryū shifted his eyes.

"I… I wanted to visit Mother's grave."

He might be imagining it – the elder man's façade relaxed at his words albeit the retention of coldness. He entered the car wordlessly so Uryū was clueless as to the man's opinion on this. At the T-junction however, it was made clear that the boy had got his wish when the vehicle swerved left instead of right which lead to their residence.

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Even in the evening, the district's sole cemetery where lifeless bodies were united with Earth lay undisturbed before the car. The arch with "Karakura's Memorial Park" emblazoned on the ivory stilts stood on either sides of the long flight of steps leading to none other than the Ishida's family plot. Uryū gazed despondently at the winding stairway which never seemed to end. It reminded him of those leading to the execution ground in Seireitei. Both were almost similar though; both were paving his heart to a certain destination, or rather, a certain longing, which he knew he must fulfill. It had fallen onto his shoulder. It was his responsibility – to save Rukia because she was his friend, and to see Mother because he was her son.

"It's strenuous. After climbing these, we have to go another two hundred meters or so to reach her."

How can Ryūken remember all of these? He could not, although he should have.

"I want to see her. Don't you?"

The elder man cast a gloomy eye at the nearest tombstone. It had been forever since she received visitors of the two closest persons in her life at the same time. Uryū had never been here after the burial and he did not know if the child had come here on his own after he moved out. He did not know. He had been quite ignorant of the boy's well being. All he knew was that the boy was alive and still in town. And for this, he knew his wife would feed him burnt mutton steak, should she be up and about, for "ill treating" their son.

Believe it or not, this was the first time both Ryūken and Uryū put their feet together on this holy ground. As much as he wanted to go up with him, the boy was simply not cut out for it at this condition.

But he was persistent.

"Let's go. It'd be raining soon."

He edged nearer to base of the stairs. Slowly, with utmost cautious, he made his way up, one step at a time. Ryūken was not to be fooled. But when a mind was set, nothing, not even blazing jabbing in the middle after having the surface punctured and tore off for a sample, could deter him. So he locked the car and followed the boy, hands out of the pockets for once when walking in case the frail form tumbled down.

But he could bet his whole life saving that Uryū would _force _himself to walk up the stairs independently no matter how long it took.

It was so typical of an Ishida.

And he raised him up to be like that.

Halfway ascending in their strides, their paces slowed. Perhaps it was fortunate that a considerably wide, even section was built into the stairs before the next flight continued. When Uryū reached there, he paused for a breath and when his foot made for the second set of steps, Ryūken suddenly understood how significant this visit was to his son. The child was not acting on behalf of his ego but rather of his self conscience since he had selfishly neglected his duty as a son to her.

"Oho! Another one eh?" a raspy voice called out.

Startled, the bespectacled boy looked swiftly to his right. There, a man with slightly scarred features and gnarled fingers was sitting meditating style on the ground with his eyes closed. Grayish brows which curtained his closed eyes coupled with his crinkled skin gave him the outline of a veteran warrior from some bygone era. Uryū, either out of mild inquisitiveness or unintended leg movements inched towards the sitting man. The latter coughed dryly before flicking an indolent eye at the boy.

"Hn."

Uryū blinked. He squatted in front of the ancient figure and asked, "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but… can you tell me what you mean by another one?"

The man coughed again. Then he chuckled.

The boy was astounded.

"Typical, human only realize how significant someone is to them when that someone is already gone."

He stroked his beard nonchalantly and went on, "Do you know why this place is built in such a way that there's a long staircase which lead to the cemetery, lad?"

Uryū shook his head weakly.

"It's an arduous journey. Life, my boy," he said at the young befuddled face. "This instinct is born naturally in all human. They yearn for comfort, wealth and luxuries. Then as they grow older, they begin to seek them. They become obsessed. They slave themselves before money. It's tiring isn't it? As tiring as climbing all the way up here."

He lifted a knobby thumb at the end of the stairs. A marble tombstone was in the vicinity.

"And where does it lead you to?"

He tittered again.

"But I don't think that's the only purpose for this stairs, lad. It's made especially for people like you. What do you think of as you set your eyes at the topmost stair? Like I said, human only cherish what is already lost."

He released his clutch on the opening of his jacket to clasp the boy's shoulder encouragingly. A shimmer of something caught his eye.

The Chain of Fate was protruding from the man's chest.

"Go. The person is waiting for you up there."

He smiled.

A warm hand enfolded around his elbow, steering the unmoving form lightly towards the steps. "Let's go, Uryū."

He allowed himself to be maneuvered away from the soul though his eyes, bemused, were still on the man. His father guided him more forcefully and he was forced to shift his attention back onto the stairs. But that was not it.

"Don't look back."

"What?"

"_Don't look back._"

"WHAT ARE YOU?"

Iron fingers tightened around the boy's elbow, warning and reminding him of what he was just told not to do. Uryū found that hard to comply. There was a slight scuffle behind them and the restless clinking of chains filled their auditorium canals. Even though he was not witnessing the progress with his eyes, he had a rough idea of what was going on. He knew it was true, even if he could not sense the reiatsu.

A shinigami was about to conduct konso on the soul.

Konso was not painful. It was not even harmful to anyone. He half-heartedly entertained the idea of assuring the soul that the shinigami would not hurt him, but Ryūken would not relinquish his grip on him. It seemed his father comprehended _everything_ that was juggling in his mind at the moment.

"It's none of our business. It's none of _yours_," he said in an undertone.

Only when Ryūken was sure of their departure did he release Uryū's arm. Mouths zipped tight, they paved their ways to the grave, deeply embedded in uncalled thoughts and reveries.

A distinct black-marble made tomb stood out like coal on snow in the midst of white-painted headstones. The hoary haired man indicated to the younger one that this would be their stop with a terse nod towards its direction. The earthy mound was draped with a mantle of carpet grass and on both sides of the plot there grew two shrubs of miniature evergreen shrubs with needle-like leaves akin to those of the great firs. With a bow to the engraved name on the slab of stone, they took a step closer and sank once more into silence. Uryū, however, approached the stone before kneeling gingerly facing it. And unconscientiously, his long fingers traced the shallow channel which was carved deftly to form dates – dates of his mother's very first and last day.

"You've been here often, haven't you?" asked Uryū.

Ryūken merely pocketed his fists again and stared at a spot on the crouching form's back with no particular interest. There was no need for a reply. The state of the scene was answers enough. Uryū was also quick to point out the obvious.

"This daffodil is fresh," he mumbled, stroking the silky petals on a long stalk carefully placed in a dainty china vase. "I doubt the caretaker would want to change flowers for unknown graves as often as everyday."

"Why don't you consider the probability of hiring someone to take care of this place?"

"It's very unlikely. The other graves have carnations, so the management uses carnations. Mother's has daffodils." He turned to face the older man but rested his eyes on the shrubs instead. "The foliages were neatly trimmed. Judging by the few yellowing ends, the person in charge must have done his duties at least one week ago. It just goes to say that even if you hired someone to clean this place, it's someone else who placed the daffodil here."

He paused for a fraction before setting a painful stare at his father. "So who is most likely to present Mother with fresh daffodils?"

Ryūken eyed his son frigidly through his lenses.

"You said it was stupid to dwell on the past. On the dead."

Leaves of all greeneries rustled as evening breeze blew through them. His long, carbon fringes swayed in harmony with the air and when he bent his head, he allowed his face to be shielded by the strands.

"You gave up on Grandfather."

Unknowingly, his fist shook so much as he clenched it tighter to compress his anger. This wrath had been suppressed for years. This wrath had been the very first reason as to why they both descended to this level of frosty ties. This wrath had been the fuel to his detest for Ryūken's ambition of monetary priorities. This wrath had been the black hole for a decade of supposed childhood's elation and dreams.

"You gave up on your family!"

It hurt. It hurt because it was true.

"_I don't want my son to get involved in this damned thing."_

"_But he has the right to at least know –"_

"_I won't allow it."_

_Sōken – his expressions tranquil and serene – stood composedly before the fiery attitude of another man whom he saw great future ahead. All fathers hope for their children's best… and Ryūken, being the youngest hospital director in town, was a success._

"_As long as I'm here, my son will never be a Quincy."_

_Sōken muted at the man's protest. He continued collecting the laundry that his grandson and he had hung to dry. The other individual turned his heels and walked away idly to the stairs. _

"_If you teach him, you won't see Uryū again."_

It was true, but only partially.

"Do we have to go through this again in front of your mother, Uryū?"

The boy chewed on his words. What right did he have to berate his father, and what right did he have to darken his mother's doorsteps?

What right did he have to be here?

Uryū knelt there, mum and numb with guilt and sore. Ryūken was not rubbing them in – he merely stood planted on the same spot, casting his sight and mind far into the azure horizon. It did not feel like a family reunion. He felt he was even more estranged from his son than before. Hopefully it would not last the night. It was heartrending to feel the ice between them, gnawing their brittle bond. God knows what he would do to preserve the soon-be-gone splinters holding onto this connection.

No.

It was not time yet.

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_16__th__ May, 2.46 a.m._

_He will never tread behind Sōken. He will never. And for as long as I still draw breath, Ishida Uryū will never know and will never claim the title Quincy – the title of a tribe so accursed that it did nothing but reward the members with self destruction and meaningless pride. So I bar him from learning the arts of Quincy. I deny him the right to learn who he actually is and the truth of the extinct cohort. He was left in the dark. But never mind. Ignorance is sometimes the best gift once could obtain from life. And right now, I will grant him that gift. But no, it did not work the way I wanted. Uryū did discover the secrets! And why did it not surprise me that Sōken was the one to blame for this? It was tough, it was cruel, it was terrible. But it must be done. Uryū cannot see the old man anymore. He cannot see his grandfather anymore._

_I'm sorry, Father._

_I'm sorry, Uryū._

_And then, he moved out of this house, swearing not to ever recognize the father he had. He went and mingled with Isshin's son. It was so apparent nothing good would come out of this. And it was spot on, was it not? He foolishly went to Soul Society without prior knowledge of his lesser capabilities. And see what he had landed in? Then again, maybe, this would be a new leash of life for him. Now that he had lost his total powers, he only had one way to sail – stash all the Quincy nonsense behind and start over living like a young man should._

_Two Arrancars appeared in Karakura. Though incomplete they may be, they were still lethal to a helpless Quincy who had lost his spiritual abilities. As if he was a Hollow magnet, they targeted him. What could he do? He ran, he dodged, he jumped, and he fell. I knew. I saw. The least I could do was to save him._

_Why?_

_He is my son._

_I offered to restore his powers. He agreed. I said for this, Ishida Uryū must never associate himself with the shinigami. He agreed. He and I knew there might be a loophole somewhere in that plain promise. Yet he and I kept quiet about this._

_Shooting arrows with rusty hands was manageable – easy. But the hardest arrow to fire was definitely the last one. The one which I know would – no, must – pierce 19mm to the right of his heart. Even if there is some other Quincy out there, I will not have allowed them to deliver that blow to him. It is risky. It is deadly. One falter of the shooter's wrist and it is all over for him and me. Tell me, which father would want to spill the blood of his own child?_

_Know this Uryū. The easiest way to get on with life is to know nothing of our kin. Nothing. Then you will not have to risk your neck fighting for other souls and other people's business. Then you will be safe. If you do not have what it takes, then you will be better off not having this power. If you want to have it, you have got to be the best! You have got to, because in between, there is only death. And I do not want to attend your funeral. No more requiems for the Ishida. It is only you and me. I have lost your mother, your grandfather, and everyone else. If the shinigami comes for the next Ishida, it would have been for me._

_So, live, Uryū!_


	7. Dawn

_Hello, my Room._

_Hello, dear Pillow._

_I'm back for the night._

Uryū pulled the covers closer to his beating heart, his form lying neatly on his own mattress. He was dead exhausted for living a life. It must have sounded weird. But after all he had been through – battling side by side with a shinigami and two spiritually aware mortal classmates – nothing seemed out of place or even… strange anymore. He had been to Soul Society; he had been to Hueco Mundo. He had been to where dead people go.

Death was not so alien. Death had wagged Its tongue at his face one too many times for him to cower in Its shadows.

He let his eye lids fall. He heard his heart's rhythm and every breath he took and released.

Sleep claimed him.

_Two persons stood perilously on two flat boulders in the middle of the river. A splendid waterfall cascaded ceaselessly behind them, splashing fantastically upon hitting the crystal clear ravine. They were not very near to the falls or within seconds they would very well be like cottons dipped too long in water. So they chose this secluded spot along the river some half an hour walk away from the main road as their "hideout". The boy had always loved to have a "hideout", a secret lair of his own. He wanted to share it with someone else and he decided last night that Grandfather should be the special one. And he really needed this hideaway because Father had barred him from meeting Grandfather. An hour or two absent from home would not be a big deal. He would say the teacher had delayed them for assignments so he was too late to catch his bus. But lying was bad. Grandfather said deceits were equivalent to sins. So he would not want to tell lies._

_But the decision to bluff Father or not can wait. _

"_Grandfather, can you show me how to form a bow again?"_

_He was having some difficulties with that. Each time he focused reiryoku in his palm, a flash of something electric blue sparked before it dissipated into thin air. Crushed by the futile effort, the boy squatted on his feet._

"_It doesn't work!"_

_The old man ruffled his grandson's dark hair before breaking into a light laugh. His eyes twinkled and he smiled broadly at the child's confounded façade. _

"_Have I told you the story of a very queer married couple?"_

_The younger one shook his head._

"_Okay. A man and a woman were married in the chapel after three months courting. But, for some unknown reasons, they could not get along well together and always ended up quarrelling and cursing. And since this man was a rich man, his wife could afford purchasing new porcelain ware and plates for a hobby. Unfortunately, soon after the woman had taken the liking of collecting such items, she would toss and throw them at her husband whenever they started arguing. This went on for every single day, for exactly seven years. On the seventh year, the husband finally said he had had enough and filed for a divorce."_

"_Gee… that's mad, Grandfather. Why wait for seven years? He should've divorced her right after she threw plates at him."_

_The older man smiled again._

"_Ah, yes… see, that's the riddle for you, Uryū. Why wait for seven long years when he could've freed himself from misery in the beginning and escaped seven years of torment?"_

"_Aww, this isn't fair! I asked you first, Grandfather!"_

"_You'll find the answer someday."_

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Nature's calling.

Uryū heaved himself grudgingly to the floor. Great, just when he was about to doze off… these untimely natural occurrences in the middle of nights were starting to prove annoying. It must be all the fruits and oats his father made him eat two hours before sleep. No complains though. He knew he would rather have frequent visits to the lavatory than those deathly stabs.

Shivering from the chilly air, he took an oversized coat hanging by the door and draped it clumsily over his back. Then he opened the door, dim light from the empty corridor poured into his room.

It was always dim in here.

Not really paying attention to his feet, he maneuvered along the path until he reached the back area of the Ishida residence. The lamps were switched off here so he could hardly see where he was walking. Still, he trotted warily in case there were other obstacles in his way.

And in the darkness, he spotted illumination surging from under the gap of a door.

It was the door to his father's study chamber.

Curious of his father's uncanny nocturnal habit, the bespectacled boy glided to the side of the entrance and pushed the door cautiously. While his long finger was prodding at the knob, his mind was weighing with what he should do if he heard the man inside moved. If the man coughed, he would scuttle away. If the man kept quiet, he would pause and listen and then decide what to do again. If the man answered the door with an abrupt tug at the other knob, he would… he would…

Probably wish his father "goodnight" before scurrying away.

When it was wide enough, he poked his head in. But Ryūken was nowhere in immediate sight. Surprised, the teen eased his self in.

Everything was in the exact order as he remembered them to be. Only this time, the space was sufficiently lit… he had always come in here when it was gloomy and shadowy. The back of an executive chair was facing him. From his perspective, he saw someone's hair protruding from the top of the seat. Noticing the silvery shades of the bristles, quickly, he blurted, "I saw the lights on and I thought you were… err…"

The person was not listening. Uryū inched closer, careful not to make even a squeak on the waxed parquet floor and turn his head around the chair.

Ryūken was sleeping. He had his fingers intertwined and resting on his lower abdomen as his head drooped to the shoulder. Gentle snores soon echoed in the silent area. Uryū stepped back from his father and removed the loose coat clothing his body. Still maintaining his soundless presence, he wrapped the article on the man's front, tucking the hem around Ryūken's neck and under his arms so as to secure it in its place.

Preparing to leave, Uryū turned to the door when the overcrowded table caught his interest.

What he saw had him rooted to the ground.

_Cancer and Treating It… Gastro Related Maladies… Gastric Cancer – Treatments and Follow-ups… Gastric Ulcer and Cancer… Discoveries on Counter Cancer… Medical Research Journal – Cancer (Early Stage)_

The door clicked as the boy exited the darkened room – he had switched the glaring lights off. Wearily, Ryūken opened his eyes, casting his sight far beyond the universe into the stars. He clenched his fists tightly under the coat.

_I'm sorry, Uryū._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hello?"

"Hello, Orihime speaking! Who's this calling?"

He had no idea why he called this number in the first place. He felt he needed to speak to someone before something happened, or before it was too late. Orihime would be okay; she was his friend after all.

"Err… hello, Inoue-san. Ishida here."

"Oh, Ishida-kun! How are you feeling? No, where are you calling from? No, your dad's house of course. I mean to ask, why do you call here anyway?"

Yes, exactly what he had asked himself moments ago.

"I thought I'd like to say hi and see what I'd missed out at school."

That sounded believable.

"Oh, well you did miss out a few important lessons at school. Sensei actually skipped Chapter Seven for Math though. She said she would probably return to it when she had the time…"

Uryū sat on the stool, pressing the receiver into his ear as he listened carelessly to the seamless flow of garbles Inoue Orihime was famous for. He smiled occasionally, not at the class's sick goldfish Orihime was describing, but of her joyous voice speaking of happy things he knew he would not go through. Somehow he felt a pang every now and then, knowing full well he would not hear her speak anymore.

"Ne, Ishida-kun, are you all right? You don't seem to talk much though."

Well, she was hogging the space for talking.

"I'm fine. I just… miss school, that's all."

"Yes, I'm sure you miss school. I really hope that you'll get better soon, Ishida-kun! Our club is falling into pieces without its president!"

"I'll try my best to be back."

That was the best he could do. Just try his best.

"Okay! We'll be waiting for you! Take care," she ended. He then heard the steady rhythm of "tut tut", meaning that the call he had made had been disconnected as she put the phone down. It could be his last call to her. He did not know. Was he being over dramatic by the way? He had not been sure if he had cancer and already he was acting like he does. But he did not want to take the risk.

"Hello?"

"Kurosaki Clinic, state your name, identity card number and time for appointment, if you have one."

"Kurosaki?"

"Huh, who are – Ishida?"

The irritation embossed in his words made Ichigo the most recognizable personality on phone. He wondered if Ichigo would speak like this, so arrogantly, if he told him he was running out of time.

"Yo, what do you want?"

"I – err…"

"This isn't a call for fun, is it? Phone bill doesn't come cheap you know."

"I –"

"Are you calling from your dad's house?"

"I – what? Yes, I'm still staying with him."

"When are you going back to school? It has been ages!"

"Yes, I know. I wonder too."

Ichigo stopped speaking. Even his breath could not be heard through the earpiece.

"You sure you're all right?"

"I don't – what?"

Uryū distantly heard the scrapping of a chair from the other side of the call.

"You're not going anywhere right? Good, 'cause we're coming over for a visit. Chad and Inoue too."

"No, you don't have to. I'm seriously fine here."

"Well you don't sound like you are. Ishida, you can lie but you can't lie to a liar. I know when you're telling crappy lies."

Uryū rose up from his seat. It gave him some control over his temper. It was not hovering at the brink of anger, but he could not help feeling irritated at his friend's insistence to come over. When he said no, he meant no. End of story.

"I said it's totally fine, Kurosaki. Listen, my father isn't back anyway. And – and I don't have the keys."

That should be plausible. He guessed…

"What, you mean he went to work and lock you up in your room?"

"Not in my room but –"

"Whatever. We're climbing over the gate."

Uryū raised a brow. It seemed that Ichigo could almost "see" his reaction since the rash teen suggested no more lowly methods of forcing entry into the Ishida residence. Again, he knew there would come a time when he could no longer see and condemn Ichigo for his insane actions and stupidity.

"Well, I'll see you later, Kurosaki."

"Yeah, sure. Take care, Ishida."

He lowered the receiver.

He would miss all of them.

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Night fell and a curtain of velvety red draped solemnly over the sky. It was pristine at dusk, particularly when lesser cars traveled the road in front of the mansion but it submerged the whole area in near deafness. No sounds, no noises. It was already oddly quiet within the barricades of what he called "home", so Uryū did not find this lack of disturbance enjoyable. He felt hollow in, out and around. Restless, yes, that would be the precise word. He was being restless. He really hoped Ryūken would break the news now. He did not want to wait. The unaddressed fact was undeniable. If he had cancer, he would take it like a man.

Did his father think he would cry and hide under the bed when he was told of the truth?

Uryū traipsed down the stairs and leaned against the cool surface of the white wall. He stood silently right beside the arch leading to the hall; his father was watching the news on the television. He had gone up to his room after dinner because he thought he wanted to be alone. Then he felt somewhat friendless up there that he decided to come down for some company, only to realise that the sole company he had here was Ryūken.

Of course, who else did he expect to meet?

Uryū shifted his weight from a leg to another, constantly wishing for some guts to confront the doctor of his condition. Ah, doctor. A doctor should tell his patient the truth, even if it was least consoling. Ryūken would break a doctor's integrity by concealing things from him.

Or maybe he was holding back information for the sake of being Uryū's father, and not a doctor?

"You can come and sit in the hall. This is your home after all."

Uryū started by the piercing invitation. His feet shuffled tentatively to the hall but he stayed put at the arch. The older man cast a quick glance at his son before presenting his attention to the TV… or he appeared to be. He was not unfazed by the gory graphics of an accident occurred at a highway some states away.

"Do you have something to ask of me?" Ryūken decided to take the initiative.

Uryū's restlessness doubled.

"I – I wanted to know…"

He left it suspended midair.

Curse him for chickening out this time. Everything was only a question away. If Ryūken knew, he would have to tell him. Patients have right to know of their health. If he demanded for it, he would get it. Was that not what he had wanted?

To know the brutal truth of this ridiculous suffering he was endowed with?

"Know what?"

_Damn…_

"Of my condition."

Ryūken switched the TV off.

"What did you say?"

The boy took one brief breath before pronouncing everything more clearly than before, "Of my condition. I want to know what's happening to me."

His father spared him one sweeping look. He hungered for this attention ever since he was a toddler but he never got it. Not even once. Now that he finally had one, he found himself failing to appreciate it. Ryūken crumpled the piece of paper he was reading in front of the news and stood on the carpet.

"The report isn't out yet. You'll have to wait."

He said them so languidly as though he did not care a single bit.

"Then what is your opinion on this?"

"My opinion?"

Did he have to rub it in? Yes, he was finally asking consultation from his father. Humiliating, was it not? Hopefully this would be the last time he had to trample on his pride and ask this man of his view on something… but he would get his wish…

It only hit him that if what he thought was true, he was not going to see Ryūken anymore.

"What do you want to hear from me, Uryū? You won't be assured even if I say everything is going on fine. You must have a rough idea of –"

Ryūken froze by the wastebasket in the hall.

Uryū looked up to see what had stopped his father from talking. When he saw the man staring down the content of the wastebasket, he gaped. He had forgotten! He had wholly forgotten to empty the bin! He did not want anybody to know of this so badly but it was his father who spotted it first, and it was all due to his carelessness!

Exactly half an hour before Ryūken returned, the nausea made an ugly comeback. He had not the time to dash to the toilet that he vomited right on the spot in the hall. And that was when he had the shock of his life.

Blood.

He was used to throwing up disgusting tarry substances. Bright crimson liquid was never on his mind. He remembered Ryūken mentioning something about "digested blood", but to see fresh one on the floor was something he was not prepared for. Wanting to destroy "evidences", he ignored the pain and seized the mop and a pail of water from the bathroom (Ryūken said, "Just in case.") and started labouring under the air conditioner. The coffee table had flecks of blood on the legs and Uryū made quick work of them with tissue paper. After returning all the cleaning instruments back to their respective places, he made for the bin. He could not leave the tissue in the hall like that, could he? But his stomach decided that its owner had to stop moving and distorted in every angle possible that he had to make his way to the cupboard for a hot pack instead. Of course, by the time he collapsed to the floor with the pack on his stomach, all thoughts of used tissue were discarded from his mind.

How foolish of him.

Ryūken approached his son.

"When did it happen?"

"I – I hurt myself in the bathroom."

"Don't lie to me, Uryū!"

Ichigo was right after all. He was even lesser than a mediocre liar.

Ryūken wrung the boy's arm, forcing the latter to look at him in the eye.

"Tell me when it happened!"

Uryū studied his father's face. Anger and frustration were all swirling in one. So his father had provided him with all he needed to know.

"It's true then?"

Ryūken lowered his hand.

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought – it doesn't matter."

Slowly, he turned his heels and headed for the stairs the second time this evening.

"Goodnight."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"_Shh, get back behind the tree and don't come out until I say so."_

"_But –"_

"_Listen to me, Uryū. Go, before it's too late. Go!"_

"_No! I want to stay –"_

"_Don't be stubborn. Do you want to disobey your Grandfather?"_

_The child stopped yanking the white sleeves of his beloved relative. He clenched tighter at the cuff, not willing to let the man go. He had heard the earsplitting howls and he knew very well what was coming for them. Sōken had pushed the boy behind a rainforest tree but the latter just would not stay there._

_How could he?_

"_I'll be fine, Uryū. Do you remember what we had pledged to each other?"_

'_One day, Uryū would be able to battle as a fearless Quincy, a warrior undaunted by blood… and death.' _

_The boy distanced himself away a bit. Slowly, he raised his head up and looked at his grandfather._

"_Make sure you make it quick, Grandfather."_

"_Of course, Uryū."_

_And Sōken winked. The boy looked on as the man trod on dried twigs into the clearing. Sōken went out there with his head held high to meet his adversaries. And for some reasons, tears welled in his sapphire eyes._

_NO!_

_It was scorched into his mind frame… but the grotesque scene of his grandfather's remains was mysteriously vague. He knew what had happened yet he failed to summon the memories as two shinigami clad in black arrived at the hellish location. He could only stand… and wait…_

… _and wait…_

… _and wait for his father to come lift him up and take him away._

_Grandfather had promised to be quick and come back._

_Grandfather, you lied._

It was only four hours right after he had wished his father goodnight.

Uryū woke up sweating, excessively indeed until his pajamas were drenched with them. Darkness outside told him it was not time to get up yet. His father should be still asleep in his room. He did not want to bother that man. So he turned to his side, squashed the pillow above his head and kept his lips pursed tight to shut whatever gasps and cries which might just come out.

Pain showed up for another dawn visit again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky was crying. Maybe it was lamenting the hazy yet distinctive future of a certain bespectacled boy, sitting by the drain in his father's backyard. The shelter above his head was zinc; it drummed so loudly as continuous droplets of rain splattered onto the surface. But he was the least bothered of the din. He thought that suddenly, everything in between heavens and hells seemed downright petty and meaningless and… worthless. But no matter how petty, meaningless and worthless they might be, they would still be here, filling the future whilst he was already long gone. His eyes ran over the gray clouds, still black and heavy, showering the earth until there was no more water vapour to condense and spill onto Karakura.

In a snap of a finger, his unexpected stay had expanded to a fortnight or so. And so many secrets and planning he had never known existed were suddenly displayed before his unbelieving face.

Why then?

He thought he was never a part of his father's every second, minute and hour. He assumed the man had simply wanted to bleach the disgraceful name "Ishida Uryū" from his memory.

But Ryūken had not, did not.

Well, those did not really matter did they? It could be tonight… it could be tomorrow. It could even be now. The inevitable was going to claim him. He had not expected his father to understand, or rather, he did not _want _his father to understand how he was coping with his days all these while. Not only in the sense of emotion, but physical as well.

From the instant he woke up, he had to endure whatever horrific plans his guts had set for him, be it an excruciating stretching of the raw lining of his organ or the grating sensation on the inflamed layers. So often he had to bite his lips and grit his teeth to keep him from screaming his throat off.

Yet he must not.

And then there was his father.

To sum it all, he was confused. He was not sure whether to be thankful or bothered at his father who was returning home as early as four in the evening for five days consecutively. He knew the man meant well, but after what concealed information he had unraveled, he was just confused, plainly confused. His disgust for Ryūken's sordid decisions years ago had dwindled, yet his respect to a parent had not rekindled even. He was lost.

Exactly what Sōken had meant? That one day, he would understand the true intention of the callous entity he once called Father. Sōken said Ryūken had discovered his precious and was doing all he could to protect it. And someday, he, Uryū, would find it and defend for it too. Could he understand now? Already his days were numbered, and the one foggy riddle of his life was hanging unanswered.

What was it that both Ryūken and Uryū must protect?

He brought a knee up and rested his elbow on it – his palm was flattened on his clammy forehead, keeping the billowing fringes out of his sight. The other hand was cradling his stomach. It had fused with him. There was no switch to turn it off. Since day one when he had the pain in school right up to now, watching the rain, there was no respite. They only differ in intensity.

Sometimes they were dull and dismissible.

The rest put him in inferno.

He had gotten sick of this.

Unfortunately, he just had to learn it the hard way that drowsiness and fatigue came in the same package with gastritis. Though in his case, it was no longer gastritis… his father knew. Uryū was waiting for confirmation. Maybe during dinner, the news would be finally unfolded.

Drizzle was nice. He had always love drizzles in the evening. Then if he was lucky, a rainbow arch would brighten up the sky, relieving it from the terrible downpour it had just witnessed. How could he not like the rain? His given name, although pronounced and meant differently, has the word "rain".

He wanted to lie down.

Light headedly, he lifted his bottom from the cemented ground and traipsed back to the house, to warmth. He was chilly through and through. He was quite positive that the maid had left when he decided to come here for fresh air, so the abode must be pretty empty save for him occupying it.

Subconsciously, he raised his left hand and held it against the wall, using the rough façade as a means of guidance – he was not seeing well. Every single accursed step was taxing, but he could no longer complain.

It was happening again.

Before he could arrange his body properly in a sitting position, his legs shook, sending him tumbling over headfirst. Again, he had gotten accustomed to this. In a second, his body would collide with the hard floor before everything went "pop" like a burnt out light bulb.

But it did not.

The side of his head knocked gently into something angular. It was moving. Battling to stay awake for a fraction longer, he blinked and thought it was _that man's _shoulder that had caught him in time.

That figure sank to a knee, bringing the boy down with him. Uryū, resignedly, gripped the upper arm of the other entity as his temple found a niche to rest in the familiar dimple in the clavicle. He could not explain why this calmed his furiously palpitating heart.

And he smiled.

When Mother died and he felt sad, he would always run to Father, cheeks damp with tears, and hugged Father as his little form was enveloped in Father's embrace. It always reassured him that he was not alone.

And if this was it, he was glad that his father was here with him.

Ryūken closed an arm over the child's back, making sure the weakened form was leaning completely against him. He had to wait.

"I… just want this to end."

The voice slipped. There was a slight tilt of the boy's head on him when the child's cold hand slid downwards his arm.

Briskly, Ryūken swung the body into his arms and strode over to the car which engine was left running. Placing the boy gingerly in the front passenger seat, he strode over to the driver's. This way, he could keep close check on his son and the road simultaneously. He had sworn that by hook or by crook, if the child's condition did not pick up, he _would _drag him personally to the hospital. And this was exactly what he was doing, because he would never let this be the end.


	8. The Estuaries and Beyond

A gentle snore and steady rhythm of inhale and exhale breached Ward 56.

Uryū, still on the bed, was completely dead to the world, ignorant of all sorts of stimulation, or rather disturbances hanging over him. He was at ease. Or at least that was how he looked like with a blank face and astonishing impassiveness. A metal stood by the cabinet supporting a package of sterilized substances – dark red and thick – which were channeled directly into the boy's veins. He would not know he was connected to foreign blood from a generous donor by a tube invading his wrist. Goodness he belonged to type AB. Should he be informed how pale and ghostly he appeared to be when his father rushed him to the hospital?

A lone figure approached the unconscious form.

So his son needed the blood transfusion after all. This would better be the last time he had to carry the boy to the hospital. Even if there must be recurring visits to this block, he would rather the boy walk here by himself. Then maybe he could glimpse upon his son from a distant window, or even hear news from the nurses' gossips. They might be inaccurate… but at least there was something, rather than none at all.

"Uryū…" he cracked, after the long pause impregnated by solemnity in the ward, "have I been doing things the wrong way all along?"

Even if he had been wrong, his intentions had been right, always. He would stay staunch to his devises of course. Only lately, he had been doubtful of the way around his plans. Perhaps there were some other methods to bring Uryū up exactly the way he wanted, but at the same time, he would never need to distant himself from his son? If there was, he would be darned… why did he not realise of such a way in the first place?

No. He had spent his whole fatherhood thinking of another possible path. He was almost certain that this would be the ultimate outcome no matter how he chose to portray himself. He told Uryū to leave the Quincy idea, not as the "Last Quincy", but as Ishida Ryūken, father of Ishida Uryū. The child would not listen.

Gastritis, he could handle. Gastric ulcer, he could handle. Gastric cancer – he would know of this when the pathologist issue the report – he could handle. Modern medicine proved them no longer fatal. And he was a doctor. He would search for a cure.

But death in combat… he was not sure if he could cope with it.

Ryūken gripped the cold metal railings. The boy still had his eyes close, not wanting to take notice of his old man who was currently rooted by his bed. Did he not want to see for himself how worried his father looked before his ashen form? Ryūken only reserved that when his son had his eyes closed.

Just like now.

If only Uryū knew.

He wondered if Uryū knew his father had looked upon him this way too when the child was sprawled on his back, exhausted, after he was dealt with a spiritual arrow in the chest?

_You were skeptical whether my "method" would help reinstall your hopelessly gone Quincy powers._

Back in the underground chamber, Uryū was merely running aimlessly, dodging blow after blow. There were doubts inked in his mind, a lot, and even Ryūken who was fifty meters away could discern them. But the attacks were far from faltering. They came in full vigour and precision, and in full brutality. He wanted the boy to move with conviction. He wanted his son to believe in his father's every action, and at the same time, he wanted to douse the useless hope for mercy of a child from a father.

_So I displayed my murderous intent. It wasn't difficult, actually. You were lacking that intent yourself. Naturally, you felt more._

_I told you it might just work if you stayed alive. I hinted I would not think twice in murdering you. And you flinched. You flinched. There was no detest, loathe and the raw want to even hurt me. You had terror in your eyes. You just could not believe that your father would want to snatch his son's life with his own hands._

Given that their meeting was of a normal occasion, Ryūken would have lowered his bow and left. The last thing he wanted was for his son to fear him. But it was not exactly fear echoing in those azure irises. Ryūken believed it to be terror and shock. Why would the child be surprised to hear those callous words from his mouth?

_Deep down, you still have me as your Father._

_I'm proud of that, son._

Ryūken knew that their bond was never really severed.

"_Ryūken…"_

"_Is that how you speak to your father, Uryū?"_

Ryūken wanted to stay as the child's father; a father to a rude son nevertheless. But at least that son had the decency to mind his courtesy in the community. He knew his wife would have wanted their offspring to be the perfect gentleman, always humble and polite… yet the fact that Uryū _was _well-mannered was not a compliment.

_There is only waning compassion in this world we're living in. Keep your compassion to yourself, Uryū._

This was one of the many advices the child would happily disobey.

_If I were someone else, someone who really wishes for your death, would you look at me that way? Would you even consider the option of setting me free? Hopefully not, Uryū. That will be plainly stupid._

Flashes of their last acts before Ryūken wrapped it up with the significant shot charged before his eyes. Only one registered – the one when Uryū chose to cage his father, dismissing ideas of administering an offensive technique.

_Kill me._

Uryū chose to cage his father.

_You did not._

_Fool. You're a fool, Uryū._

Ryūken set his gaze on the sleeping boy's visage. He did not want to see him on a hospital bed no matter what reasons given. What if Uryū ended up here again sometime later? This was Ryūken's fear.

_I cannot stretch my coldness any longer. What can I do for coldness to rub into you? You're too innocent for your good. Help me Uryū. Don't die on me. _

_Your mother would not want that._

Ryūken released the railings and took hold of his son's unmoving right hand. He lifted it gently, trying to memorise the long lost feel of Uryū's fingers on his palm. These were the fingers which curled around his father's thumb when he entertained his newly born offspring. These were the fingers which trembled in his father's firm grasp on the child's first day in school. These were the fingers now residing lifelessly in his father's hand.

The older man fished out the Quincy bracelet from his pocket and slid them around Uryū's wrist. It was exactly this artifact which warded them apart in the first place, and Ryūken was giving it back to him.

It pained him. But as long as Uryū was happy, he would be too.

Cold fingers tightened somewhat around his callous palm, nudging him to set his attention on the stirring form. The boy blinked twice, and twice, Ryūken noticed, he had rolled his blurry eyes over his surrounding. As if he could see clearly…

Could he see his father then?

"Uryū?"

Cerulean irises darted immediately to the voice. All he could make out was the indistinct outline of a man with white hair. That attribute alone was enough to tell him who he was. And suddenly, he was very conscious of his hand in his father's warm grasp.

Ryūken eyed his hand, too.

They repelled to their respective owner's side in a split second; Uryū folded his on his stomach while Ryūken was satisfied with keeping them hidden in his pockets. They both looked away obstinately, either refusing or was too abashed to look straight in the eyes, but only for a while. Uryū, despite not having his glasses on, scanned the figure before him surreptitiously.

The older man pulled a chair to the side of the bed. Upon sitting on it, he turned to his son again. "How are you feeling?"

_And what will you tell me? That I have no reasons to care?_

Uryū cautiously brought the back of his hand to his forehead, seemingly vaguely aware of his father's query. Skimming the ceilings, he finally brought himself to answer – speaking for the first time after being fairly mute for almost twenty four hours – in a rather splintered voice, "Sore."

"But I'm all right," he added as an after thought.

He slanted his head towards his father, taking in the fuzzy image of the man. He wished he had his glasses on; he had wanted to see things clearly for once. For now, all he could distinguish was the rolled up sleeves and missing necktie of his father, something he was sure Ryūken would never showcase in public, especially at his working place.

"Have you been here all the time?"

Ryūken crossed his leg as he reached for the pair of spectacles on the bedside stand.

"Yes."

"Then I suggest you go back now and get some sleep – thanks," Uryū accepted the glasses offered, pushing them back against his nose. "I can manage here by myself."

"No, I'm required here."

He leaned back casually against his seat before taking out his cell phone. "Your report should be out anytime now. For you to claim yours, it's better to be accompanied by a parent." Ryūken flicked the plastic cover open. "Unless of course, you want to take the report alone."

"I – no, I didn't –"

"Good day, Isshin please? Yes, he's awake. No, it's past visiting hours. Tell them to come back tomorrow…"

Uryū glanced over the curtains above him as he allowed some quietness for his father. But it was precisely at this moment his throat decided to do otherwise; his chest tightened and the boy started coughing into his fist. He blamed his parched uvula. When he flinched at the prickling sensation, causing his father to stand abruptly with a hasty "Later, Isshin", he mentally cursed himself.

"Sit up."

As he said so, Ryūken half hauled his son up before leaning him against the propped up pillow. Pushing a glass of water into his son's hand, he scanned the outer appearances of the ill body again. At this, Uryū promptly dropped his hand clenching his midriff.

"It still hurt?"

The boy nodded meekly between sips. Sparing a cold stare at the silent form, Ryūken turned his heels to the doors.

"Why?"

He halted. He thought he heard his son speaking.

"I still don't understand!"

Uryū lowered his glass, his body inclined towards the standing stature. What he saw though, when his father turned to face him was something he had long missed. The eyes had something kindled in their depths and it was after the deaths of Sōken and his mother the flames in them died. It would be for the best then, to see some emotions in the stoic entity he had failed to comprehend.

"Uryū," he addressed the teen who was apparently longing for answers as reflected by his pallid visage, "I think our misunderstandings have stretched on for quite sometime now, but…" he trailed away.

"But? This isn't a puzzle for me to solve! Haven't you for once think of what you should be doing as a man? Everything seems to be revolving around your life as a doctor, doesn't it? Why is it that you have to be like this, not the least bothered of the matters beyond our realm… or _yourself? _You –"

"You just don't understand me, is that what you want to ask? But for your role as a son, there is no need for you to know."

"Then why do you even want to be here?"

Ryūken studied the blue eyes of the boy on the bed, willing himself – if it was at all possible – to convey the very truth he had wanted his son to know for so long.

"Who _are _you?"

"Leave it, Uryū."

"I'm not going to delay this all over again! Just what is your justification for all these nonsense we've put ourselves through?"

"Did your grandfather tell you the reasons then? Did Father mention of families?"

Uryū closed his fingers around the icy railings. "He did," he whispered.

"And he was right."

His son directed another piercing gaze at him. Why the shock? Was it not obvious? But judging from their brittle relationship, he knew the child had not known.

And it was okay. He never blamed the boy.

"Listen, Uryū. There will come a day when you will learn about things nobody can teach you but yourself. I cannot explain. But do you really think I'd lead a pleasant life all along, alone in the house?" he sighed. "It is never easy being estranged from your child. It never will."

_Never easy… being estranged from… your child…_

_Never easy…_

"You –"

"Don't worry about it. Your time will come. You'll see. When you can call yourself a father, then you'll see."

There was a shuffle of feet on the outside, and soon, a smart rap on the door was heard.

"Come in."

A young nurse admitted herself in at Ryūken's approval. Uryū recognized her as the very same nurse who tended to him during the biopsy several days back. When he saw a glitter of an engagement ring on her finger, he smiled inwardly. He was so sure she had not had it on when he first met her.

"Ishida-sensei, your report," she handed him a brown paper file clutched tightly to her bosoms. "Got it from the pathologist just now. The list of suggested medication is in the file as well."

She searched for her superior's son and upon discovering him sitting on the bed, she waved amiably. "Hello, Uryū-kun. Feeling better? You still look peaky, though."

The boy held a hand up, waving a little.

"All right, thank you. And can you please check on the patients on the second floor? I'm afraid I won't be able to go there this afternoon. The housemen can report to the sister."

"Yes. Good day."

And everything became awfully uneasy the minute she walked out of the ward. Uryū's eyes darted from the report to his father, lingering a couple of seconds longer at the man's façade to pick up hints of what the health statement might say. But his father deprived him of any of those sorts. He retained his unmoving features, all the while thumbing from page to page; studiously reading the details it came with.

"Well?" the boy finally cracked.

The elder one closed the file and extended it to his son. Hesitantly, the latter accepted.

Ryūken watched as the boy flipped to the second page, then the next, and the one after. His forehead knotted more observably as he delved deeper into the content and the man could not help thinking what the child would expect of his current situation. They say worry is like an extremely big shadow of fear for something small. He had to say that _that _was one of the adages which make sense the most.

When Uryū lowered the papers to his lap, he blinked at his father.

"Negative," he muttered.

"Yes, I think it's very much so."

"Negative," the boy repeated it to himself. "I don't have cancer."

Ryūken cocked his head at an angle, pinching his nose as he did so. "What makes you think you have cancer?"

_But I thought… the books… you did research on gastric cancer…_

"I – I don't know…"

"Hn, still, it doesn't hurt to prepare for the worst. Here," Ryūken held his cell phone with his forefinger and thumb momentarily before tossing it over to his son. As Uryū caught it in both palms, he glanced at his father questioningly. "What do I have to do with your cell –?"

"Don't you have someone to tell that you're all right?" the man answered, a tinge of disbelief coloured the sentence. He turned his heels for the second time, and this time, he edged towards the door, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he bowed his head to the floor, concealing his humanity from his colleagues and his son. As he heard the beeps of digits being dialed from the bed, he closed the door with a relieved sigh.

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"Hah! I know you're going to be okay in no time! I mean, you actually live with the hospital's director! That is saying a lot, isn't it?"

"Ishida-kun, we're very glad to know that you're okay! School has been rather restless without you in the class."

"Ah."

"Everyone's dolls are torn and spoilt and without you, we really don't know what to do with them!"

"Don't go saying things like that Inoue. It sounds as if sewing is the only reason why he has to be in school."

Uryū watched his classmates' antics without so much of a prod to his glasses. They had dropped in the moment visiting hour began and huddled around him as soon as he had done addressing Kurosaki Ichigo, Inoue Orihime and Sado Yasutora. For the first two minute, they had chosen they words scrupulously, not wanting to overexcite or offend the ailing teen, and to his dismay, all of them had spoken to him so softly as if he was on his death bed. But as they entered the third minute, they dropped all pretence.

"So, how's life, Ishida?"

Like he said, they – especially that Kurosaki – had started being crude in their words again.

"That's not even close to funny, Kurosaki. How do you think life has been for me all these while?"

"We've met your father, Ishida-kun."

There was another prod to his spectacles. "You did?"

"And he has a considerable amount of reiatsu. There's a very high possibility for him to be spiritually aware," Sado said, raising his head up to look at Uryū from behind his hazel fringes.

"But I thought it's a common knowledge, Chad. Ishida here is the one who made a promise to his father not to associate with another shinigami ever… no matter how screwed up the logic is. It only makes sense for his father to be a Quincy as well."

"That is not what I meant Ichigo. The Last Quincy, Ishida Uryū. Do you –"

"I see what you mean, Sado-kun."

Uryū leaned back into his pillow, relaxed at the subject of his father, even though he was not sure why. "Judging from his spiritual pressure, I'm guessing even you Sado-kun, knows the height of his skill as a combat fighter."

"But I don't feel –"

"Then treat it as a fact, Kurosaki."

The substitute shinigami should spend more time sharpening his knack for detecting reiatsu, he mused.

"Yes, it's only quite lately I had found out his true identity. _He _is the Last Quincy, son of the First Quincy, Ishida Sōken."

"Yes…"

Orihime was twiddling a corner of her skirt.

"It must be a very happy feeling, isn't it, to have an actual father? Ne, Ishida-kun?"

He frowned somewhat. "Inoue-san…" Had this matter been too sensitive for her?

"Mr. Ishida!"

The three teenagers twisted their necks to the door; Ichigo was up on his feet when he greeted the doctor. Ryūken nodded curtly. And after he let himself in, a nurse followed and placed a tray of tubes on the bed stand.

"Excuse me; can you give us some space here?"

Orihime and Ichigo stood up, backing into a corner as Sado returned his chair to its respective location. Both Ryūken and the nurse vanished from view behind the drawn curtain and all they could hear later were jargons of the medical field.

Uryū wondered if his friends would leave.

"Oh shit, Chad, what's the time now?"

He knew they had left when he heard the door slam shut and scurries of feet on bleached floors and shrieks which sounded oddly like, "SCHOOL, DAMN!"

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So, he had missed school for almost two weeks already, all due to the unfortunately excruciating symptoms of gastric ulcer, exclusive of another three days of admittance in Karakura Hospital. Miraculously, during his stay here, the ulcer was beginning to heal and he no longer had erratic midnight pains. He could not have asked for more; after so many days, he finally could resume sleeping peacefully from night to day. The only thing which awaked him in the middle of the night was the mysterious creaking of the door. But he was the least worried of it. He knew his father was only checking on him. Well, all the more reasons to drift into a sated sleep – knowing that he was not alone in this – right?

"I've packed you your clothes. You're already discharged from the ward, I've done the procedures. Change into this," he put a bag of neatly folded clothing by his son, "and we can leave for home."

The boy obediently stood up and untied the strings securing his hospital gown, but while folding the discarded green material, his eyes fell onto his reflection on the window panes. And he stopped moving. Ryūken elevated his sight from the newspapers he was reading when he no longer heard motions from his son.

"What's wrong?"

The boy straightened up, looking at his approaching father. Securing his belt, he weighed his words well before turning yet again to the man. "I remembered something Grandfather said when he handed me the Sanrei gloves."

He saw Ryūken's eyes briefly raked across the scar burnt permanently into his chest. No sooner had he spotted that, his father pierced his blue orbs with a stare. "What did he say?"

"He… told me that…"

It sounded quite wrong. To him, what Sōken had told him on that fateful evening was far too sappy for his father. So currently, from the bottommost of his heart, Uryū wanted to walk out of the door to escape from this conversation. But it seemed that there was no other way around it. His first attempt at getting some answers from his father had failed dismally. Maybe this time, he would succeed. Luck can be so fickle. He guessed that was why there was the saying "try, try again."

He was going to chance it one more time.

"He told me this, 'Your father is already protecting something dear to him. You may not understand him now, but you will when the time is right. And when the time is right, you will know what you want to protect either. And as a preparation for that time, I want to give you this.'"

Ryūken deemed those words summarised his parenthood well, except that Uryū did not look like he had understood the connotation.

"Yes, Father always had his ways with words. But young as you are, I don't expect you to grasp his meaning."

The boy shrugged. He had wanted his father to belch the answers point blank, not answer him with another taunting remark.

"No," Uryū spurted. "No, I want to emphasise on his last sentence. As a preparation for that time, I want to give you this."

That caught Ryūken's interest.

"What more is concealed by the Quincy tribe? Why would Grandfather bequeath me the Sanrei gloves for something I will protect? What is it that you're protecting that by some intricate explanations is linked to me?"

The older man scratched his chin, replaying his son's streaming questions in his mind over and over again.

He himself did not get it either. Did Sōken just hint that Uryū needed the destructive powers of the Sanrei glove to protect something dear to him? Ryūken's intention of shielding his family from harm and adversaries was as clear as crystal, and he assumed that when the time comes, Uryū would understand that his father had never even once abandoned his family for something else.

In a way, he assumed that Uryū would do whatever he could to protect _his _family in return.

But to rely on the Sanrei glove?

"I believe that in due time, we will come to know what he meant."

"You do believe him?"

Ryūken pointed at the white shirt on the stand, gesturing his son to put on something on his back.

"He was the First Quincy, and a lot more seasoned if compared to you and I. There are things which he might know and we don't."

And time will tell.

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_Ist June, 10.15 p.m._

_Uryū was discharged only five days ago and within this short span of time, he had showed vast improvement in his condition. I had put him on antacids since day one and thankfully, he had never missed his pills. I thought he had purposely messed up his medicine table, which would eventually lead to all these dire complications he had been through. His doctor prescribed him cimetidine and misoprostol – the former is designed to block the action of histamine on gastric cells, hence reducing acid output while the latter is an agent that strengthens the gut lining against attacks by acid digestive juices. It was very good to know that the pain was receding too; I saw him watering the plants in the garden in the evenings. _

_Then one night, we were in the kitchen washing the dishes and pots. A plate accidentally slipped from his grip and it shattered on the floor. While we were gathering the shards, he suddenly grinned. I was not quite sure of how high I raised my eyebrows, but the moment he saw me, he grinned wider and started relaying this story he said he had heard from Father. It must be the same old one… the one he used to tell to children when they were on the verge of giving up. So the big question mark was why proposing divorce only after seven years of flying plates from the wife? _

_I told Uryū – practice makes perfect._

_It had been a while since we shared a good laugh between us. And after clearing up the mess, it had been considerably warmer in the dingy house. He did not talk much, but it was enough not to earn that steely glare of detest anymore. I was not quite sure as to why I was even bothered with his perception of me. I thought I was the one who initiated this parenting style._

_And, I know the day would come._

_This evening, when I came back as usual, the kitchen table was laden with dinner. All of the dishes reminded me of her cooking when my birthday arrives. Of course today is of the wrong date, but the menu consisted of my favourite dishes. I thought I saw cuttlefish among the shitake mushrooms, but she knew I would not touch those – I dislike anchovy's gravy. But the taste amazed me. The chef had cleverly substituted anchovy with garlic. _

_Even the rice had sesame sprinkled on it. This is usually done on special occasions in the household._

_I know he is no longer here, under the same roof. If this is the way to say thank you and farewell, this must be the one most excellently done in the whole century. _

_Be well now, Uryū._


End file.
